Home in the Darkness
by tonygirl
Summary: Absaroka, WY is a looong way from Chicago. But safer. MUCH safer. No matter the distance, just when Annie thinks she can stop looking over her shoulder, a sequence of events reminds her that complacency - even in Durant - can be deadly. OC, so I don't want to hear any complaining! Rated T just to be safe. M may be required later. Not a Branch fic ;-)
1. Cows in the Road Don't Count

**Author's Note: I own nothing. I am only a lowly fanfic writer.**

Branch Connally had a weakness for women. Especially strong-willed, sassy ones. With a hint of flirtation in their eyes.

A big rack didn't hurt either.

He wasn't sure if the woman draped across the engine compartment of an old Ford truck in the lone bay of Fred Ray's auto shop fell into any of those categories.

But, he did enjoy the view.

Propping one slightly dusty Tony Llama on a case of oil sitting by the open bay doors, he decided to figure out if she was one of his three favorite things.

Until the radio in his cruiser parked just outside crackled with static.

Ruby. Trying to find someone to take a call about a wreck on State Hwy. 106. God bless her.

Finally realizing he was there, Ray's new mechanic eyed him disinterestedly over her shoulder as she removed an alternator that looked like it was older than the beat-up truck, if that was even possible.

Branch sauntered to his cruiser and reached through the open window to answer the call. "Can't. I have a flat."

Victoria Moretti's voice was the next one he heard, coming in loud and clear. "You would, asshole."

Branch had to grin as he tossed the handset back into the car at Vic's response. His fellow deputy might fall under strong-willed and sassy, but she had a few too many claws for his taste.

Yankees. Go figure.

Branch sauntered back in the warehouse out of the noonday sun, his boots kicking up clouds of dust in the parking lot. It was dry for late summer, but that was not uncommon in the arid regions of Wyoming.

She was now rooting around in a stack of boxes that probably had some sort of organization to whomever put them there. Not one that Branch could see, however. Fred Ray was not known for his organizational skills, that was for sure.

She didn't even look up as she spoke, studying the writing on the side of each box before she tossed it aside. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to introduce yourself. Or if you were just going to stand there and look at my ass."

Another Yankee by the sounds of it.

That's alright. Branch liked a challenge. "And I was beginning to wonder if Fred Ray had some sort of sex change operation. Just how long you been working here, anyway?"

She finally found the box she was looking for and rose to her feet, pulling off the baseball cap and wiping her forehead with her arm before putting it back on, tendrils of hair curling around her face and neck where her hair had come loose from its ponytail. She certainly wasn't high-maintenance, that was for sure. "Long enough to know the law doesn't make house calls. You want me to fix that flat, I'm guessin'?"

"I've never had a woman change my tire before, but I'm game for most anything." He gave her the smile that he knew showed his dimples off the best.

Grudgingly, she returned his smile with a half-hearted one. "I think most men would say that. But, you're going to have to wait."

Branch's surprise must have been written on his face because she snorted as she sauntered back to the engine compartment of the truck, pulling the new alternator out of the box and tossing the empty in the general vicinity of the dumpster. "I've got three others ahead of you. That have been waiting a lot _longer_ than you." She didn't even look at him as she crawled back on the bumper and settled back in what must have been an uncomfortable position.

His badge gave him perks he knew he wouldn't ever get without one. Bumping him to the front of the line – no matter if it was at restaurants or car repair – usually was one of them.

Not today, apparently.

"Where is Ray, anyway?" Branch said, looking around like the man was hiding from him behind one of the old rusty oil barrels or outdated cars on blocks.

"Billings. Car show." Her voice echoed in the cavernous engine compartment of the Ford. Although she had thwarted his efforts, Branch couldn't help but admire her tight Levi's – black grease stains across her rear - as she wrangled a particularly stubborn bolt.

"I guess I couldn't make you change your mind by telling you I have an important call," he tried one last time.

"Cows in the road don't count."

"They do in Wyoming." His tone was playful as he hooked his thumbs on his belt. "You can't stop me from protecting and serving, you know."

There was a loud clank, then a few colorful uses of the English language as whatever bolt she was using clattered to the concrete underneath the old truck.

With a sigh, she climbed off once again, putting her hands on her hips. Branch couldn't help but grin, reaching out and wiping a smear of grease off her nose with his thumb.

She slapped his hand away in annoyance. "Look. If you take the tire off and put the spare on, I'll have the thing fixed by the time you get back."

Branch grinned at her slowly. "What? You want me to get all dirty changing my _own_ tire?" He gestured down at his immaculate deputy uniform.

He was kidding. A little.

She rolled her brown eyes dramatically. "Fine! I'll take it off and put on the spare! But I'm charging you for it!"

"The county."

"Whatever." Sounding a lot like Vic, she flounced out the door, reaching inside the car for the trunk release, so she could get the spare and the jack.

Figuring he could use some brownie points, he made his way to the trunk to help her with the spare.

Giving him a dirty look, she wrestled the full-size tire out of the trunk by herself.

Branch grinned. "I like a modern, do-it-yourself woman."

"I bet you do." She tossed the spare on the ground next to the offending flat. "Especially if she does all the work."

"Aren't you supposed to be wearing one of those auto mechanic shirts with your name on the chest?" he motioned towards her old, grungy T-shirt advertising a band that hadn't had a hit in 30 years.

She didn't look up as she removed the lugs from the tire. "Do you really think Fred Ray would pay for something like that?"

She had a point.

Obediently, Branch held out his hand. He could at least keep up with the lugs.

She looked at his hand, then at him. "You might get your nails dirty."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

With an impatient sigh, she tossed the lug into his hand and wrestled with the next one. Leaned over the tire like she was, he caught a glimpse of some sort of tattoo right above her right breast. It intrigued him, but he thought he better not ask her what it was. By the way she was huffing and puffing, she may bean him over the head with the jack.

"You never told me your name."

"You never asked." She flopped down on the ground and placed the jack just right underneath the car.

"I'm asking now," he said playfully.

She eyed him from the ground as she jacked up the car. "It's Annie," she answered grudgingly.

He grinned and started to reply.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like Oakley."

Branch shook his head and leaned against the car, careful not to lose the lugs by putting them in his shirt pocket. "I was going to ask if you would belt out 'Tomorrow'."

She made a face. "There's that one, too."

"But, your hair's the wrong color."

"Boy, I didn't know the local law was so observant." She pulled the flat off, inspecting it once with her fingers before lifting the spare onto the wheel. Branch admired the way her muscles flexed. She may look small, but she was one tough cookie.

"While we're on the subject of names," she puffed as she stuck her hand out for the lugs, which he obediently handed to her one-at-a-time, "what the hell kinda name is Branch, anyway?"

He stared at her a moment without answering, his smile disappearing.

She looked up at him when she realized he wasn't going to answer. "What?"

"Have we met?" That was possible. There was this wild party one night over in Russell Craddock's old barn . . .

She gave him a disgusted look that seemed to say 'some cop you are' and pointed in his cruiser where his name was prominently displayed on the computer background, along with his photo.

He smiled at her sheepishly. "I was beginning to wonder."

"Sleep with very many strange women there lately, Deputy Branch Connally?" With one final tug, she tightened the last lug snuggly into place.

"Not lately. But, I may be willing to break my streak."

Annie tossed his flat tire in the general direction of the garage and stood, wiping her hands on the seat of her pants. Explained the grease stains. "I bet you would. The tire'll be ready by five." She sashayed off, pony-tail swinging, unceremoniously climbing underneath the truck to retrieve the errant bolt she had lost earlier before she decided to come to his rescue.

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Branch climbed into his cruiser.

Yankees. Why did they all come with so many teeth?


	2. Godforsaken is Good Godforsaken is Safe

Deputy Ferguson tinkered with the aging printer that Ruby has plopped on his desk just that morning, declaring if the county didn't give them enough funds to buy her a new one, she was going to start charging them by the sheet.

Ferg couldn't blame her. This thing was ancient by normal standards, let alone technology standards. And he knew she'd do it, too. No one crossed the Absaroka County Sheriff's Office's long-time dispatcher/secretary without getting away with it.

Since technology was _way_ out of the Sheriff's league, Ferg found he became the go-to guy for anything that was broken. And he wasn't half-bad about repairs, either – from coffee pots to printers and even the office pencil sharpener that Vic had taken to pounding on her desk to get it to operate correctly – if he tinkered with it long enough, it usually ran properly when he was done.

The last of the sun's rays shone weakly through the window as he finished hooking the printer to Ruby's computer. After running a few test pages, he had to smile to himself as the paper fed cleanly through, although there was no one there to share in his triumph. It was not unusual for any one of the three deputies, the sheriff or even Ruby to be there at all times of the night. When they weren't, the phone rang to Ruby's house. But, it was a large county with a small population – not often did they have many middle-of-the-night calls. Usually domestic disturbances after too much booze and not enough sleep.

After tossing the few leftover screws and nuts in a drawer – why there was always parts remaining after a repair, he never knew – he flipped off light switches as he headed to the door.

Pulling it open, he almost yelped in surprise when there was someone standing on the other side of it, knuckles raised to knock. In fact, she looked almost as surprised as he did.

"I . . . uh . . . hi. I . . . uh . . . was trying to decide if I should just knock or barge on inside," she said apologetically.

"Barging's OK. That's what most people do anyway," Ferg admitted with a smile. "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, she smiled back. "I'm . . . well, I'm looking for Deputy Connally."

_Of course she is_, Ferg thought to himself. _What woman isn't?_

Squelching that uncharacteristic bitter thought, he cleared his throat and reached for his cell phone. "I haven't seen him in several hours, but I can call him if you'd like . . ."

She rolled her eyes skyward. Although he had never met her, Ferg was under the impression she did that a lot. "Figures. He probably wants me to track him down, so he can watch me put the tire back on his cruiser."

Ferg stared at her. "Wait . . . his _tire_? He watched you _change his tire_?"

With an impatient flip of her hand, she pushed back an errant strand of hair from her cheek. "It's my job."

"You . . . change tires?"

She rolled her eyes again, this time aimed in his direction. He felt appropriately chastised. "I work at Ray's."

"_Really_?"

She gave him an exasperated look that all women tend to master before puberty. "Don't tell me Absaroka County, Wyoming is still in the dark ages, and mechanics cannot hire women without risk of public flogging."

Ferg realized his error and backpedaled. "No! Uh . . . it's just that . . . well . . . you look too . . . well . . . _pretty._ To work on cars."

Her harsh glare melted just a little as Ferg blushed. And struggled to find something else that didn't sound so stupid.

"And neat. I don't think Mr. Ray has scrubbed his fingernails in a decade."

So much for not sounding stupid.

She looked down at her own clean, but short nails and smiled. "It's a royal bitch to get that grease out at the end of the day." She looked back at him. "Tell me something Deputy," she glanced at his shirt, "Ferguson-"

"Just Ferg."

"OK. Ferg. Does the illustrious Deputy Connally have a desk?"

"Er – yeah?"

Her grin turned mischievous. "I have an idea."

"You know, I can carry that. I carry tires all over creation every day," Annie groused as she moved ahead of Ferg on the stairs to open the door to the sheriff's department.

Ferg was adamant, huffing and puffing a little at the effort. "It wouldn't be right. And you'll get your clothes dirty."

Annie looked down at her clean t-shirt and jeans she usually wore for her second job as Ferg lugged the tire past her and into the darkened office.

_When was the last time a man worried about you getting dirty?_

With a loud creak from the aging chair, he tossed the tire into it at a desk near the window, stopping it from rolling across the floor with the toe of his boot. After adjusting it a little, he glanced up at her. "Should we leave a note?"

Annie couldn't help but grin. "I have something even better!" She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a folded sheet of paper – her bill. Ferg laid it with a flourish on top of the now-repaired flat.

"Thanks, De- I mean Ferg," she said, sticking out her hand.

Ferg wiped his hand on the leg of his pants before he shook hers. His grip was warm, strong, his hands calloused. But so was every other man's in this godforsaken place.

And that's what she liked about it. It was out in the middle of nowhere.

Godforsaken was good. Godforsaken was safe.

"You never told me your name," he said slowly, letting her hand go.

Annie almost gave the same smart ass remark she did to Connally, but stopped herself just in time. Hard habit to break. After all, this man had helped her out here. "Sorry. I'm Annie. Annie Groslowski."

She waited for the same comments she usually got – either a crack about Annie Oakley or Little Orphan Annie.

Ferg looked thoughtful. "Groslowski, Groslowski . . . I can't think of anyone with that name around here."

He took neither route. That was surely different.

"I thought this was a big county."

"My family's been here a _long_ time," Ferg admitted. "Plus, I figured you weren't from around here."

"How's that?" she asked warily. She couldn't help it – suspicion followed her where ever she went lately.

"Your accent."

"Oh. Right." Well, that was a harmless enough observation. "I'm from Chicago," she found herself blurting out.

"Well, Annie Groslowski from Chicago, nice to meet you."

Annie couldn't help but return his smile. "Thanks for helping me out here."

"Oh, no problem!" And he actually seemed glad about it.

Looks like she wasn't the only one that didn't think too highly of Deputy Connally.

She started edging towards the door. "I better go. I've gotta get to work-"

Ferg looked perplexed. "I thought Ray's closed at 5."

"He does. I work as a waitress at a joint just outside of town some evenings."

Ferg followed her back out the door, flipping light switches once again. "The Inn down by the interstate?"

"The Red Pony."

"Henry's place! Yeah, that's a good one!"

"I guess everyone knows all about it, since there's so few places around that are open after dark, huh?" Annie teased as she waited for him to lock the doors.

"Oh, Henry Standing Bear is a great guy. In fact, the Sheriff and Henry go way back."

"The sheriff, huh?" She cocked her head. "Big guy. Cowboy hat that's seen better days. Needs a haircut?"

Ferg smiled as they started slowly down the stairs in the dimly-lit corridor. "Yeah, that's Sheriff Longmire to a T."

Annie thought for a second. "Hmmm. Sure doesn't _look_ like a sheriff."

"Compared to Chicago standards, at least."

She glanced sharply at him, trying to figure out if what he meant, but realized he was teasing her.

_Boy, I'm really rusty at this friendly-banter business_.

They were back outside at the curb, her old truck waiting patiently for her. Annie turned her face towards the breeze coming from the north and shivered, rubbing her arms with her hands. "It's only September. Please tell me that it usually doesn't get this cold this quickly here."

Ferg actually looked apologetic. "We'll probably have snow on the ground in a week."

"Great. Just great."

"I thought it snowed in Chicago."

_Yeah, well, I didn't have to worry how I was going to keep pipes in an old, worn out camper I now call home from freezing when the temperature hits 32 degrees, either, buster._

She kept that part to herself and gave him a wan smile. "Usually not until December. Hey, thanks again, Ferg." Reaching for the door handle, she pulled it open, the rusty hinges squealing in protest. Climbing inside the cab and slamming in the door, she took a moment to glance around the small town square. The streetlights were on, and it actually looked a little less rundown and a little more quaint than usual.

"Where's your cruiser?" she asked, noting the absence of any other police vehicles on the curb.

Ferg looked sheepish. "Oh . . . well, I have to use my own vehicle. But, they give me a small stipend for gas and all." He pointed over his shoulder, and Annie peered through the dirty, cracked windshield.

And whistled.

"Is that an '86 Trans Am?"

He blinked, seeming surprised that she'd know that. Annie didn't feel like reminding him she worked on cars for a living . . . although that wasn't what she'd _always_ done. . .

"It's an 87."

"V-6?"

"No, V-8."

"Nice." And she meant it, too. "I guess it'll hold its own with all those government-issue fleet Chargers, huh?"

Ferg shrugged, but looked pleased.

Annie couldn't help but think it was cute. "Thanks again, Ferg. See ya' around."

He took a step back as she cranked up the ancient truck, smoke belching from the tail pipe. "Yeah. See you around."


	3. The Wrath of Vic

**Author note: OK, my peeps - thank you so much for the kind reviews. But, please leave me reviews that have a nice little reply option! Like any self-absorbed and slightly neurotic fanfic writer, Tonygirl enjoys talking about her fics to complete and total internet strangers - and apparently talk about herself in the third person! Carry on!**

"Who's the new girl?" Walt asked as he sipped his Rainer, motioning towards the brunette putting beer in glasses from the tap.

Henry didn't even bother to glance up from his paperwork. "She has been here two weeks. I would say she is no longer considered 'new'."

"Well . . . _I_ haven't noticed her."

"Shows something of the self-absorption of our county officials, does it not?

"It only shows that she's law abiding."

"Well . . . it _has_ only been two weeks."

Walt couldn't argue with him there and took another sip of beer. In fact, arguing with the Cheyenne Nation usually never turned out well for anyone.

The waitress breezed by him with a tray full of frothy beers. Walt watched her as she expertly avoided the pincher fingers of two of the more unruly patrons. In fact, most people never would have noticed the dark expression that flitted across her face as they made drunken passes at her.

But, Walt wasn't most people. "She's done this before."

Henry did look up this time, glancing at him over his glasses he wore the read, one of the few concessions to age he recently had to make. "Most women in bars deal with drunk patrons, yes."

That wasn't quite what Walt meant. But, he really wasn't quite sure what he meant, so he kept his mouth shut.

The waitress breezed by with an empty tray, her boots echoing on the old scuffed wooden floors, scowling to herself.

"Annie? Are those men bothering you?" Henry asked. "Because the sheriff would like to arrest them for harassment."

She stopped at the bar and slowly put down the tray, reaching for a rag to wipe it down before putting it back in the stack for reuse. Walt had to chuckle. She looked like she was actually considering the offer.

"Is it really that slow around here that you have to scare up business?" Although it sounded like she was joking, she chose her words carefully, deliberately.

"You'd be surprised," Walt replied with what he hoped was a friendly smile. The way she was eyeing him, maybe it wasn't as friendly as he thought.

"The Sheriff is also disappointed that you are law abiding," Henry added.

Her back froze as she reached for a clean glass, but only for a moment. She recovered nicely, but not quickly enough for Henry and Walt to notice her hesitation. They glanced at each other before she turned back around. "Who says?" she said with a tight smile. "I could be the worst criminal set loose in your county in a century."

Walt watched her short fingernails nervously tap on the counter as she filled another glass with her other hand. "I somehow doubt that."

She filled another tray and hefted it with little effort. "Tell me if you still feel that way when you get to your office in the morning." This time, her smile was genuine. With her features relaxed, she really was pretty, not gorgeous, but enough to give you pause.

"Chicago, right?" Walt asked.

Some of the wariness returned, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her serious brown eyes never leaving his. "How'd you know?"

Walt shrugged and took another sip of beer. "I've seen 'The Blues Brothers.'" His Chicago accent was decidedly a poor effort.

She relaxed and smiled. "Don't let the workings of the Cook County Sheriff's Department on the big screen fool you. In real life, they are actually quite adept at their jobs." She picked up her tray and trotted as far away from him as she could get.

Boy howdy.

Walt wondered what exactly had her so uptight.

And what exactly would be waiting in his office in the morning.

XXXXXXXXX

"A tire?" Henry sounded confused over the phone.

"Yup. A tire." Walt propped his boots on his desk to get more comfortable as he watched the scene outside, a smile playing on his lips.

"Why?"

"Apparently, she had a run in with one of my deputies yesterday . . ."

"Vic?"

"Good guess. But no."

"Branch." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Bingo."

"What did the nefarious progeny of our former sheriff do to piss her off?"

"Made her change his tire."

There was silence on the other end. "That is even lower than his usual low standards."

"She works for Fred Ray."

More silence.

Walt couldn't help but grin. "You didn't _know_?"

"No. I was not aware." Henry paused. "Perhaps I will have her look at Rezdawg."

"You need to scrap that piece of junk. Besides, how do you know she's any good?"

"Fred Ray would not have hired her." Henry's tone suggested that any imbecile would know that.

Walt shifted a little as he watched Branch on the curb, wrestling with the lugs and jamming his finger in the process. He had to grin at the sight. "She must keep to herself if even the Cherokee Nation was kept in the dark."

"She does. Hard to do in this county."

"Yup."

"So, you will not arrest her for littering your office with car tires?"

"Oh, she had an accomplice." Walt's gaze drifted out his door into the main floor. Ferg was clearly enjoying the scene on the street just as much as he was.

"Vic?"

"Once again, good guess. Although Vic would have been more likely to _slash_ his tires."

"True. Ruby?"

Walt snorted at the thought. "Wrong."

"Hmmm . . . I did not know that Deputy Ferguson had it in him."

"Oh, he'll surprise you sometimes," Walt admitted.

"Especially when pretty women are involved."

"There _is_ that."

XXXXXX

Ferg found himself curious about the brown-eyed woman from Chicago who worked on cars by day and served drinks at night. Whose intelligent eyes took in everything around her, but managed to keep everyone at arm's length at the same time.

And who also didn't like the snow. Or Branch, apparently.

He couldn't help but be pleased by this little fact.

And that pretty much summed up what he knew about her.

Yet, he couldn't get her out of his mind. It was something that would sneak up on him at the most inopportune moments. And he couldn't help but smile.

To only have met her once, he wondered why he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Then, he wondered if she ever thought about him.

Probably not. He helped her pull a fast one on Branch. It wasn't like he saved her life or anything.

He still found himself scanning the parking lot for her old truck each time he drove by The Red Pony. Sometimes he saw it. And sometimes, he didn't.

He wasn't brave enough to stop. Sure, he always went in Henry's – you often had to if you wanted something halfway decent to eat after a certain time at night. But, he knew if he stopped now, it was just to see her, and he was a little afraid of how creepy that might be.

Not that she'd know or anything. He could just say hi and leave it at that.

Maybe she wouldn't even remember him.

That would definitely suck considering the time he spent thinking about her.

Briefly, he thought about Cady and sighed. She never saw him as anything other than good ol' Ferg. So why should Annie be any different?

She had to have men after her all the time. She probably wouldn't even give him the time of day. Or maybe she'd just be polite.

That would be even worse.

He wondered why she was so standoffish. He noticed her usual reaction to anything he said was suspicion. Generally an optimist and a trusting soul – a fact that had landed him in hot water on more than one occasion – he was curious about people who seemed to be the total opposite.

Not that he could waltz into Henry's and ask her if she was always so suspicious of people or was it something she had learned to do . . . boy, what an idiot he'd be then!

But, he found he wanted to know.

A sharp whistle brought him out of his revelry.

Vic was standing right by him, her hand on her hip, obviously a little more exasperated than usual.

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" she said, shaking the file at him to emphasize her point.

Ferg figured he'd better listen. The wrath of Vic was something he'd rather avoid at all costs.


	4. It's on Your Shirt

**Author's Note: Reminder (in case you already forgot or have been living underneath a boulder) - I own nothing! No lawsuits, ya hear? That is all!**

It had been the night from hell. Not only had it snowed a foot the night before causing her to run her pick-up into a ditch going to work at the shop that morning and had her standing there until a farmer with a four-wheel drive fished her out, but every single pipe in her teensy travel trailer had frozen solid. Every. One.

She did not even want to think about how much those repairs would cost. Or climbing underneath it with a hair dryer in all that snow to try and thaw it out, either. Cheaper option, but a whole lot more miserable, that was for sure.

Ray was on a tear – rare for the man who mainly grunted when asked any question. He couldn't find a box of parts he had special ordered and decided she had to help him organize a storeroom that hadn't been touched for almost 20 years.

She found his parts. But, she was too tired to gloat about it.

She wasn't scheduled to work at The Red Pony that night, but Henry called her at the last minute because another waitress had called in sick.

So instead of trying to thaw out her pipes or bang out the dent in the fender of her truck, she had to deal with some sort of impromptu stag party. The more they drank, the harder it was for her to stay out of their grasps. Or keep her mouth shut.

"Hey, baby! Bring your fine ass over here with a few more beers!" the one with a beard called out.

Annie was surprised he could even talk without slurring his words. She'd already had to go out into storage twice for two more cases of their favorite brand.

Cursing for being unlucky enough to be assigned their table, she had long ago dispensed of niceties. These kinds of partiers weren't usually the tipping kind, anyway.

Scurrying behind the counter, she briefly wondered where Henry had disappeared to.

Dena was in town. So that probably answered her questions. To be so level headed with everything else, she was always surprised how he seemed to follow her like a lovesick puppy whenever she was around.

But, men had a weakness. This much, she knew.

Lord, did she ever.

"Hi."

Annie looked up from refilling pitchers of beer, startled at the hesitant greeting. After the slurs and innuendos she'd heard all night, she couldn't help but smile at the first friendly face she'd seen today. "Hey, Ferg!"

He returned her smile, blissfully unaware of her Shitty Day From Hell as he settled on the worn barstool, duty belt squeaking in protest. "You remembered!"

Annie glanced at him as she set the now-full pitcher on a tray and refilling another one. "Remembered what?"

He was obviously now embarrassed. "Uh . . . my name?"

Annie tried to keep from smiling at the blush rising up the back of his neck, noticeable even in the semi-darkness of the bar. "It's not like there's very many deputies in this county who helped me lug a tire up a flight of stairs on a lark."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I guess not."

"Plus . . . it's on your shirt."

Ferg looked down, almost as if he forgot the little nameplate was there. "Oh. Right."

Annie cleared her throat. Her intentions weren't to embarrass him, although she couldn't help but tease him. "So . . . are you here to arrest Henry? Because he seems to have gone AWOL at the moment, but I can probably flush him out."

Ferg looked startled. "What? Oh . . ._no_! Nothing like that! I guess I'd . . . well, what I'd like is . . ." He absently picked at a splinter on the bar as he talked.

Waiting patiently, Annie couldn't hide her smile any longer, although he wouldn't look her in the eye long enough to see it.

"I'd ask for a beer, but it looks like you're busy enough as it is." He finally blurted out, motioning over his shoulder towards the rowdy crowd that was now attempting to dance – one of them on the table.

She blew a strand of hair out of her face and sat the half-empty pitcher down with a thump. "As long as you promise not to grab my ass, I'll gladly make them wait."

He looked horrified at the very thought.

She couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction.

Picking up a clean glass, she filled it as full as she could and sat it in front of him. She knew she should continue to be at the beck and call of the Drunk Bunch, but she needed a break. But with Henry MIA and the other waitress – Bridgett she thought was her name – on break, she didn't have a choice. She picked up the half-empty pitcher and continued to refill it. "So . . . drinking on duty is now approved in Wyoming?"

Ferg stopped with the glass halfway to his mouth. "What? Oh . . . no!" He looked down at his uniform. "Just got done for the day."

"I'm jealous." She gave her favorite patrons the side eye.

"Hey, waitresssss! Fine ass and beer, 'member?" the one with his cowboy hat on sideways stood up and yelled in her direction. Over the noise the rest of them were making and the music blaring from the juke box, she was surprised she could hear him at all.

Annie ground her teeth in frustration as she plunked another full pitcher on her tray, sloshing some over the side.

"Where's Henry?"

"Probably knocking boots with Dena in the storeroom."

Not touching that one with a ten-foot pole, Ferg risked a glance at the rowdy crowd in the corner. The one on the table has now taken off his shirt and was whipping it around and around over his head like an ugly stripper gone mad.

"He better get his ass back in here, or I'm going to bean someone with a tray," Annie muttered.

"You want me to . . . say something to them?" His tone said he would if he had to, but he'd rather not, thank you very much.

That's bad when the local ruffians even bothered the law.

She picked up the tray and looked at him. "Do you really think it would help?"

"Yeah. You're right. Probably not." He actually looked relieved.

Annie couldn't blame him one bit. Taking a deep breath, she balanced the tray in her hand, steeled herself and walked towards the feisty crowd.

She could do this. It wasn't like this was the first time she fended off drunken passes.

At least she was clothed this time.

Without comment, she plunked the three full pitchers on their one table that didn't have anyone dancing on it. "Can I getcha' anything else?" Not that she really wanted to or anything . . .

"Yeah. How about we go 'round back for a little bj? You know, earn your tip the hard way! Get it? _Hard_!" The bearded one leered at her while the rest of his friends guffawed like only drunken men can do.

Annie rolled her eyes skyward. Lord, this was harder than she remembered. At least now she didn't have to pretend to like it. "If that's the best pick-up line you can manage, you need to try _harder_." Hastily, she started collecting empty pitchers. Normally, she would have left them, but they were about out. The quicker she could retreat again, the better . . .

"Oh, I can manage a whole lot more than that . . ." Before she realized it, he had her around the waist, the tray of empties clattering to the floor, pitchers rolling everywhere. He pulled into his lap as his friends laughed uproariously where she could certainly tell what he was talking about.

She struggled away with the help of a well-placed elbow to the stomach – he may be drunk, but his grip was tight. All his friends did was laugh even more as she skittered out of reach.

He must not have been as drunk as she thought – this man could certainly hold his liquor - because he rose from his chair faster than she would have figured and had her pinned against a nearby table, chapped lips blowing the stink of beer breath in her face.

"A fighter. I like that." He tried to kiss her, but she squirmed as far away as she could.

"Let me go, you piece of shit!"

"Oh, I was serious when I said you're gonna earn your tip the hard way-"

"Hey! I'd let her go if I were you!"


	5. Who Was Going to Kill the Deputy

**Author's Note: Potty language warning! Those oil riggers sure have a questionable choice in language, don't they? Mr. Tonygirl hates the 'c' word, so I hope I don't offend. It's all in funsies anyway!**

Ferg knew the odds were against him. Even in an Absaroka County deputy's uniform, the odds of him facing down seven drunk men that looked like they probably worked on the oil rigs in the southern part of the county and winning were miniscule at best.

But, he sure as hell wasn't going to sit there and watch them manhandle any woman against her will.

"I'd let her go if I were you!"

All eyes drifted towards him. The one that had Annie pinned looked surprised at being questioned.

"You talkin' to me?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Let her go." Ferg tried to keep his voice as even as possible. And his hand away from the revolver on his side.

These seven were probably just as armed as he was. That's the first thing you learned about this county. Always assume the public is armed to the teeth. Because they usually were.

Annie used the distraction to her advantage and wriggled away from the drunken giant, moving away as fast as she dared.

"You OK?" he asked her, taking his attention off the hostile crowd long enough to search her eyes and gauge for himself.

She looked scared and relieved at the same time as she nodded once, moving to stand behind him.

He hated that hunted animal look on her face. He would have rather she went behind the bar. It was safer. Or better yet, headed out the door.

Ferg wanted to shoot all of them. And maybe Henry, too, for leaving her here by herself.

"Hey, you're that Deputy Ferguson, aren't you?" Annie's assailant asked, putting one hand on the wall and leaning on it as if they were having a normal, every-day conversation.

Of course, sexual threats, drunken brawls and bar room fights probably were normal conversation to this guy.

"What's it to you?" Ferg asked, his chin held high.

His friends watched them both, also trying to figure out where exactly he was going with this.

The man pulled out a wicked looking knife, and Ferg heard Annie's sharp intake of breath. But, the beast of a man flicked it open and started absently cleaning his finger nails with it. "I heard you only got that job because of some favor the sheriff owed your daddy." He glanced at him shrewdly. "Seems a piss-poor way for a fat fuck like you to make a living."

It wasn't the first time Ferg heard those words. And honestly, it probably wouldn't be the last. He knew his father thought he was doing him a favor, but in the long run, it gave him more hard ships than easing his troubles.

No one was harder on Ferg than Ferg himself.

All he could do was stare the man down, trying not to figure out if he could pull his gun and fire faster than the beast could gut him with that wicked knife.

Don't forget the fact that two of his friends rose lithely and quietly circled around behind him and Annie.

In fact, everyone had stopped what they were doing and were staring at the scene unfolding in front of them.

But no one stepped in to help.

Ferg couldn't really blame them. This was a formidable bunch.

The man chuckled at Ferg's obvious discomfort, which made his friends laugh half-heartedly in tandem.

A hand on his back. "Ferg? Ignore them." Annie's breath was warm on his neck as she whispered softly. "They're not worth it." She tugged lightly on the back of his jacket to further her point.

"Listen to the cunt, _Ferg_."

"Don't you call her that!" Without thinking, he lunged, but Annie grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Stop it! He'll _kill_ you!" she hissed in his ear.

The two cowboys that had circled behind them closed in. So, now there'd be some competition in the Who Was Going to Kill the Deputy game.

The bully chuckled in amusement. "Sorry piece of trash that calls himself a cop. In fact, this whole county's police force is a joke. An old, washed up sheriff who's banging that East Coast gash, and that dandy that would rather look good than dirty his boots. And you-" his eyes settled on Ferg. "When I get through with you, you're gonna wish -"

Ferg barely noticed the blur as something whizzed by him.

A beer pitcher.

And it hit the guy square on the forehead with a loud clank. His eyes rolled back as he slumped to the floor like a rag doll, his four compatriots sitting around him gawking in shock.

Before the pitcher hit the floor, Annie grabbed her abandoned tray and swung it with all her might towards one of the assailants sneaking up behind them, smashing his nose, blood spurting in every direction as he sunk to his knees.

Now out of ammo, she was a sitting duck. The third one grabbed her by the hair, whipping her towards him with her neck at such an awkward angle that tears came to her eyes.

At her cry of pain, something almost primal made Ferg abandon the idea of shooting the guy. This had suddenly become personal. Without hesitation, he took two steps in their direction. As her attacker whipped his head around to face this new threat, Ferg balled his fist and punched the guy in the face as hard as he could.

Although it hurt like holy hell, there was certainly a satisfaction in this type of pain.

The creep's fingers were still tangled in Annie's hair as he hit the ground, out cold, dragging Annie down with him.

Struggling away from him the best she could, Annie scrambled to her feet as the remaining four stared, their mouths agape at what had just transpired right in front of them. One started to rise from his chair, his hand going towards the knife in his belt. Ferg stepped in front of Annie and reached for his service weapon.

"I would think twice about that if I were you."

XXXXXX

Henry's calm, clear voice drew the attention of everyone still conscious in the room.

Annie could have kissed him. And slugged him for taking so long.

With dark eyes, he quickly assessed the situation as Dena stood wide-eyed behind him.

"Annie. I leave you all alone for five minutes, and you attack my patrons."

Annie opened her mouth to protest, but realized Henry was teasing. For once, she kept her mouth shut and just glared as she stood her ground with Ferg. It didn't go unnoticed that he had stepped in front of her when one of these cretins went for his knife.

Annie was pretty sure he was just doing his job, but it had been a long time since someone had made any effort to protect her.

The Bearded Wonder decided he had to have a say as he groaned and rose to his feet unsteadily, a trickle of blood running down the side of his face from where Annie had whacked him with the empty pitcher. "I wanna have her arrested-"

Henry stuck a finger up for silence. "I would suggest that you and your friends vacate the premises immediately, or the only ones being arrested here will be you."

Even if you didn't know Henry Standing Bear, you could tell by his tone that he did not make idle threats.

"C'mon, Stan. Let's get out of here."

"Not before you pay your tab. And make sure to leave a generous tab for your waitress," Henry challenged.

Wiping his forehead with a napkin and wincing, Stan threw a couple bills at Annie's feet.

Annie glared at him in return.

Grumbling, one of them picked up the guy Ferg had knocked out cold, threw him over his shoulder, and they all filed out the door.

Annie didn't realize she was holding her breath until the door slammed behind them.

One older man that Annie had seen there on most nights wearing worn chaps and chewing on a toothpick sauntered over to where she was rooted to the floor, leaned over, picked up the discarded bills and handed them to her with a grin, showing off blackened teeth.

"Nice shot."

Annie managed a weak smile as she took them.

"And you, too, Deputy. I didn't know you had it in you."

Ferg's smile matched her own, shaky at best. "Neither did I."

"Annie, since Deputy Ferguson is bleeding all over my floor, I suggest you take him into my office and patch him up. Bridgett will help clean up this mess. Right, Bridgett?"

The cute blonde had appeared out of nowhere, eyes wide at the carnage. All she did was nod her head vigorously.

That heifer – showing up after all the damage has been done . . .

_Wait_ . . . did he say Ferg was _bleeding_?

Annie jerked her head around, finally realizing Henry was right. Ferg must have caught the guy's tooth because a wicked-looking cut on his knuckles was trickling blood, bright dots of it speckling the floor. In fact, he looked like he hadn't noticed it either, although it had to hurt like a sonovabitch as he stared at his hand incredulously.


	6. Never Second Guess the Cheyenne Nation

"This will probably sting. A lot." Annie's concerned brown eyes met his, and he nodded.

Taking his injured hand carefully, she put it underneath the running water in the sink in the little bathroom employees used in the back. Her touch was gentle, warm, soft, very . . . feminine

And she was right. It stung like hell.

To avoid thinking about it, Ferg watched her as she carefully rubbed a clean cloth over it as the water ran pink down the drain. Chewing on her bottom lip in concentration, she rubbed her finger lightly over the jagged cut, making him wince.

"Sorry," she mumbled, glancing up at him before returning to her ministrations.

Shutting off the water, she dabbed it with clean paper towel.

"Hand me that antiseptic out of there," she motioned towards the first aid kit taken from Henry's office that she had opened and laid on the back of the toilet. "And the alcohol." With is good hand, Ferg obediently handed them to her.

After patting it dry, she held his hand over the sink as she poured the alcohol on it. They both watched the wound bubble and froth. It stung even worse than the water, but he wasn't going to let her know that.

"You may need a rabies shot," she grumbled under her breath.

"Probably not a bad idea."

The small bathroom was cramped, and he stood closer to her than he was comfortable with. It was hard not to let his eyes wander. The first thing he noticed was she had a scar over her right eyebrow. Idly, he wondered how that happened and almost blurted out the question to mask his discomfort at their close proximity. Not that she noticed.

At least, he hoped not.

He also thought about telling her he could bandage his own hand, but found that he was actually enjoying her soft touch more than he had a right.

In fact, he was pretty sure Henry's employee restroom did not smell like . . . like springtime. Flowers and fresh air. But her hair tickling his nose sure did.

After securing the bandage the best she could – hard to do on his knuckles – he found when she let go, he was sorely disappointed.

She didn't move.

Neither did he.

With a small sigh she looked up at him.

Her eyes were not totally brown as he originally thought, but flecked with green right around the iris's. And the way she had them focused on him, he could feel his heart rate pick up.

"Thanks," she said solemnly. "For helping out back there."

He smiled at her. "I couldn't let a pretty lady fend for herself. Although you did a good job of it."

Her eyes wandered away from his, and he found himself disappointed again. Idly, she started picked up pieces of the bandage wrapper. "My father was a cop."

"Really?"

"In Chicago." She looked embarrassed, almost as if she was not accustomed to sharing information about herself with others. Her eyes traveled back to his. "Not that what I think matters here, but don't let what that ass munch said back there bother you."

That's right. She heard every bit of the insults, too.

Ferg shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, suddenly embarrassed. "He's right. I did get this job because of my dad."

She sighed. "That's what parents do. Help us out in life. It's nothing to be ashamed of. . ."

"Even if I feel like an idiot running around in uniform sometimes." He didn't know why he said it, but he blurted it out anyway, blushing when he realized what he'd done.

_That's right. Air your insecurities to the pretty woman. That'll show her what you're made of._

She chuckled, surprising him. "If I felt like an idiot every time I thought I was woefully untrained or unworthy or whatever, I imagine I'd feel like an idiot _all_ the time. Besides," she leaned against the wall with her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest, "as a resident of Absaroka County, _I_ certainly can't complain. You've already helped me out of this jam back here and assisted me with semi-vandalism of a co-worker's cruiser." A smile played on her lips. "How did that go, by the way?"

Ferg smirked. "He was _mad_!. And he almost fell down the stairs carrying that tire, but he dropped it, instead. It made the most God awful racket bouncing down!"

Annie laughed aloud and covered her mouth with her hand. "I couldn't believe he had the county pay the bill so fast . . ."

"I fished it out of the trash can and gave it to Ruby," Ferg admitted.

"See, there's a third thing you've done for me – made sure my employer is properly reimbursed for my time," she said with a laugh.

A knock on the door startled them both. "I did not know medical care consisted of giggling," Henry's voice drifted through the scratched and water stained wood.

Annie sighed, her scowl returning. Color rose in her face as she shoved all the medication back into the first aid box and yanked open the door, pausing just momentarily at the sheriff grinning back at her, Henry staring impassively behind him in the cramped hallway.

"'Bout time you got here," she sassed, storming by them both.

"I was under the impression you didn't need me," Walt called to her retreating figure.

She stopped, turned on her heel and stomped back in their direction. She pointed at Ferg. "He needs a raise." Then, she turned on her heels and retreated back down the hall, disappearing into Henry's office.

Walt looked at Ferg. "That's a new tactic that Vic hasn't tried. Getting the public to insist on a pay increase."

"Th-that wasn't my idea," Ferg stuttered. She caught him off guard with that, too.

In fact, she just kept doing that to him, making him wonder about his own state of mind.

"You OK?" the sheriff looked at him closely.

"Yeah," Ferg nodded, just glad he didn't have to face down the rest of those men by himself. Someone would have gotten hurt. . . maybe even Annie.

His heart lurched at the thought, surprising him once again.

"He is fine," Henry agreed. "My customers on the other hand . . ." He shrugged.

Walt pushed his hat back on his head. "Did she really bean the guy with a tray?"

"Right on the forehead," Henry said solemnly. "Plastered another one with a beer pitcher. She pitched softball in high school. Maybe college."

"She told you that?" Ferg asked, surprised at the nip of jealousy on the heels of that comment. The idea of Annie opening up to Henry like that made him squirm, although most women got a dreamy look in their eyes whenever Henry's name was mentioned anyway . . .

_Really, Ferg. Get a grip_.

"Annie tells no one about herself. She plays her cards close to her chest. But her throwing stance – and her aim – tells me otherwise," Henry admitted sagely.

Ferg couldn't help but be relieved. So, Annie wasn't chatty with Henry.

Stupid, he knew.

And just add Henry to the list of people who are way more observant than he was.

"Never second guess the Cheyenne Nation," Walt mumbled.

"Thank you for not shooting him," Henry said towards Ferg.

"Yeah. The paperwork would have been a headache," the sheriff admitted.

XXXX

Bridgett, Dena and Annie made short work of the mess made by the fight.

Annie didn't volunteer any comments about the situation as she swept up pieces of broken tables and beer pitchers, although she caught the other two stealing glances in her direction. Not one to be chatty anyway, she sure wasn't going to start now.

Tying the black trash bag closed, she hefted it up to take it out to the dumpster.

"Let me do that," Bridgett offered, reaching for it.

Annie felt silly fighting over who was going to take out the garbage, but she held onto it firmly. "No, that's alright."

"You OK, hon?" Dena asked, her hand on her shapely waist.

Annie had to give them both credit – they actually looked concerned. She managed a smile. "Yeah. I just . . .uh . . . need the fresh air."

Without waiting on a reply, she half-drug, half-carried to heavy-duty bag out the front door.

She halted just inside the door, startled. What little snow left on the ground in the parking lot appeared to be stained red. It took her a moment to realize it was just the glow from the red pony on top of the bar.

Get a grip, girl . . .

Exhaling, she continued out the door, letting it slam behind her.

That's all she needed. More bloodshed.

When the blast of icy air hit her, she the little light-weight jacket didn't do much for keeping out the cold.

She needed to rectify that situation. Soon.

Along with the frozen solid pipes in her home-on-wheels. Unless the Pipe Fairies visited her trailer while she was gone and thawed them out.

Lovely.

Lugging the bulky bag to the dumpster, she grabbed the handle on the door, the frigid metal making her hands just that much colder.

Don't forget gloves. She'd need to buy those, too.

Just as she hefted the bag towards the opening, the weight became easier to manage.

With Ferg's help, they hefted the bag into the dumpster.

Annie even remembered the shut the lid to keep the coyotes out of it.

They didn't have coyotes in Chicago, either.

"Thanks. Again."

She was pretty sure he blushed, but it was hard to tell. It could've just been the cold or the glow from the flashing neon sign.

"You looked so serious, I almost let you do it yourself. You looked like you may slug anyone who bothered you," he said with a half-smile.

She wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm as they stood in the shelter of the dumpster. "Oh, don't mind me. I was just wondering how I was going to fix my frozen pipes."

"We don't usually have that problem until it gets 40 below zero."

Ferg laughed at the incredulous look on her face.

"40 below zero? _Seriously_?" she gaped.

"You didn't choose this place for its lovely weather patterns, apparently," he teased.

Nope. She sure didn't.

"Geez, Louise, I'm going to _freeze_ to death before Christmas!"

"Where do you live?" At the look on her face, he back pedaled "I mean, if you want to tell me-" He trailed off.

Annie shrugged, wanting to alleviate his obvious discomfort. She knew he meant no harm, but her first reaction to those questions was always hostility.

She wasn't _always_ like that . . .

And it wasn't like he couldn't look her up, anyway. He was the law, for Pete's sake!

"At the RV park down by Double R Ranch." Embarrassed, but not sure why, she quickly added. "It's all I could afford for now, but I hope to save up for my own place eventually." She didn't know why she felt like she should explain. It was obvious she wasn't the only one in this county who struggled, if the sad, worn-out houses and trailers all alongside the highway said anything about it.

"That explains the frozen pipes, then." He scratched his head. "Does anyone around here know how to fix camper pipes?"

"I hope so! I'm also hoping they aren't busted, just frozen. But I have to crawl under there with my blow dryer to find out." She made a face, then shivered as a particularly chilly blast of wind caught them even behind the dumpster.

Ferg took her by the elbow and led her back towards The Red Pony. "You better get back inside before you freeze to death."

"How c-come you the c-cold doesn't seem to b-b-bother you?" she asked through chattering teeth.

He smiled. "You get used to it. I told you, this is nothing. It only gets worse from here."

She stopped just inside the doorway, wanting to get close to the fire Henry always had going, but finding she still had a question for him. She turned and could just make out his expression in the glow from the indoor lights. "You never told me what you came by for."

He looked decidedly uncomfortable and wouldn't quite meet her eyes.

It struck Annie that moment.

He came to Henry's to see _her_.

She wasn't sure what she thought about that – it was something she'd have to file away to think about later.

But she didn't want him to have to explain himself either. That wasn't her intention when she asked that question. She put her hand on his arm and smiled up at him. "It doesn't matter. I'm just glad you did."

This time, he met her gaze, taking a deep breath before replying. "Yeah. I am, too."

Surprising even herself, Annie found herself wanting to kiss him – nothing serious. Just a friendly peck. However, she shrugged that off as the worst idea she'd had all day. And she'd had plenty in the past 24 hours. Instead, she patted his arm once before letting it go. "G'night, Ferg. See you around."

"Yeah. G'night." She heard him say as she entered the bar, shutting the door softly behind her.


	7. Not Unless They Want in Your Pants

Lying on her back underneath her ancient RV, water soaking through the back of her shirt no matter how hard she tried to stay on the ragged tarp she managed to spread in the tight space, Annie watched the water drip from the joints or flanges or whatever they were called where all the pipes were connected.

Every single one of them.

No one else seemed to be having this problem. In fact, life in the Happy Bird RV Park seemed to be going on as normal – folks going to and from work or basking in the warmth of a campfire as they enjoyed the scenery, watching her with vague interest as she crawled around in the mud.

Of course, her little old travel trailer had more age on it than most of these. In fact, the pricey versions probably had subflooring with heaters to keep the pipes warm. She even saw one with what looked like a diaper wrapped around the bottom – she assumed it some sort of heated blanket and wondered how much it cost.

Hers needed a diaper now because it had sprung several leaks.

Of course, if she had kept the water dripping in the faucets, this wouldn't have been a problem.

However if what Ferg told her was true, when it reached forty below, even dripping water wouldn't prevent it.

_Why didn't I run to Arizona?_

Tires crunched on the small gravel drive that wound through the park, but she paid it no attention.

Mentally checking the balance in her account, Annie realized she could probably pay a professional to do this job. Maybe. A _reasonable_ professional. She had no choice if she didn't want to keep sprinting to the bath house on the other end of the property to shower, wash dishes or do anything else that required water.

This just plain sucks.

XXXXX

Ferg debated on it. In fact, he thought about it so much, he realized that should be his answer right there.

After all, why would anyone hesitate to help a woman who was obviously on her own and needed all the help she could get? Generous by nature, he normally would have offered his assistance and not thought twice about it.

His hesitation was brought on by the fact that he didn't think she'd take it. She had too much pride for that. Anyone with a lick of sense would see it on her face. She would do it herself, thank you very much. He wouldn't want to offend her by offering.

Or annoy her by popping up in her life again.

If he was totally honest with himself, he'd realize a lot of the reason he wanted to help was that he found himself wanting to kiss her the night before as she stood shivering in the doorway of Henry's bar, her face turned up towards his, smiling, thanking him for helping her out.

She might have used an empty beer pitcher on _him_ if he had tried.

But, there was no sense in her trying to find a plumber who specialized in recreational vehicles when he was pretty sure he could fix it himself. It couldn't be _that_ much harder than regular plumbing, and he'd done enough of that in his life. In fact, he unearthed a box full of RV plumbing supplies in the store room, left over from some sort of bust at a parts supply store way back before he had joined the Absaroka County Sheriff's Department.

Although his mind was already made up, he still fought his doubts all the way to the park.

She didn't notice him as she crawled out from underneath the RV, scowling and wiping the dirt from her jeans. Deep in thought, she trudged to the little picnic table provided for each camper, pulled out her phone from her back pocket and plopped down on the worn bench.

By the looks of it, she hadn't quite figured out what to do herself.

Taking a deep breath – _just why in the world is this stressing me out anyway?_ – Ferg opened the door of his car and climbed out.

XXXXX

Apparently, RV repair people were scarce in this part of Wyoming.

Scarce meaning the closest one was about 400 miles away.

Annie could feel a headache blossoming behind her eyes.

_What in the hell was I thinking going so far from civilization? Sure, I didn't want to be looking over my shoulder all the time, but hell, this is nuts . . ._

"You look like you could use some help."

Annie almost dropped her phone in surprise, scrambling at the last minute to hold onto it.

A new phone was certainly another expense she didn't need.

"Jesus, Ferg, you scared me!" Carefully, she laid the phone on the worn table, trying to figure out why the sight of a friendly face made her feel just that much better. She prided herself on being a loner since she left Chicago, but maybe she wasn't as happy with her lifestyle as she thought she was.

"Sorry. I thought you heard me."

"I guess I'm just too stuck in my own misery to pay attention." She motioned across from her. "Have a seat."

Ferg leaned on the table, but didn't sit. In fact, he looked a little uncomfortable at being there, and Annie wondered if this was a social call or not.

Well, he wasn't in uniform. In fact, it looked like he was wearing a . . . fishing vest?

She didn't think there was anywhere to catch fish in the park. But being a city girl, she wasn't sure she would know a watering hole if she saw it.

And just what was he doing here?

"So . . . is someone misbehaving at the Happy Bird RV park? Or is this just a social call?" She tried to keep the wariness out of her voice, but she was afraid some of it leeched through.

He wouldn't meet her eyes as he absently picked at the peeled paint on the table.

Although it usually never bothered her how people reacted to her attitude, she felt a little badly about this. And couldn't figure out why it mattered.

XXXXXX

OK, she obviously was uncomfortable.

Of _course_, she'd be. She lived on her own and kept to herself.

_And if I keep showing up like I have nothing better to do than follow her around, she may get even more creeped out_.

Too late now.

Ferg took a deep breath and decided to not beat around the bush. "Look. I have a box of RV plumbing parts in the car that I found at the office. I thought I'd take a look at your pipes and . . . uh . . . see if it's something I could fix."

He finally looked at her. Her brown eyes studied him closely, and he made sure he didn't flinch.

Scrutiny –especially from the opposite sex – always made him squirm.

"Why?" she countered, her suspicion quite obvious now.

Ferg tried not to be offended. A woman like Annie would have men falling all over themselves to help her . . . but only if they got something out of it in return.

What _did_ he really want?

That was easy.

He wanted her to be happy. Wanted to see her eyes light up as she laughed, putting her guard down for once. He barely even knew her, but he couldn't stand the thought of her unhappiness.

Not that he could tell her this in so many words.

Sighing, he pushed himself into a standing position. "I didn't see any need in you paying for a repairman to come all the way from Cheyenne if it was something that could be fixed easily. Because this is such a large county with a small population, that's what you have to do around here. Look out for everyone else. I just thought-"

He stopped when she sighed and put her face in her hands, rubbing a few times before looking at him. "I'm sorry, Ferg. Really. I'm just not . . .accustomed to someone helping me. . . because it's the right thing to do." She offered him a hesitant smile that he couldn't help but return.

"Chicago folks aren't as helpful, huh?"

"Not unless they want in your pants."

"Oh. Well, I certainly don't want _that_!"

His horrified response brought on something surprising. Her laughter echoed throughout the park.

When she laughed, her entire features changed – softened, didn't look like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

When her eyes met his again, smiling, Ferg realized he probably just lied to her, but figured he'd keep that thought to himself.

Suddenly stern, she pointed at him. "You do realize I'm going to pay you for this."

He figured that was coming. But he was just glad they were off the subject of getting in her pants. "I didn't even buy the parts-"

"For your time."

Ferg shrugged. "I'm sure you can probably help me out someday."

Rising from the table with minimal effort, she added, "I think I owe you something like what? Four favors now? I'd _hate_ to see what the payback will be." Her tone was teasing as she brushed by him, leaving the scent of her perfume behind, making his mouth inexplicably go dry. "Let me help you unload the parts, at least." She glanced back at him from over her shoulder saucily. "I can even hand you tools. You know, I actually know the difference in a Phillips head and flat head," she teased.

Ferg didn't doubt that one bit.

XXXXXX

"This is really good!" Ferg said enthusiastically as he dug into the steak and potato she placed in front of him.

"It's kinda hard to mess up good cuts of meat," she agreed, sitting down at the picnic table with her own plate. In the noonday sun, it didn't feel quite so chilly.

"You'd be surprised."

Annie mashed into her potato with her fork. "Oh, I agree. When I first moved here, the only way I really had to cook was on a grill, and I can't tell you how many hamburgers I burned before I got the hang of it!"

"You seemed to have moved up in the world," he motioned towards the rather large T-bone.

"I wish! Mr. Ray had someone pay him in beef for an engine repair-"

"Common 'round here."

"I figured as much. And as long as they didn't give us a live cow, I can deal with it!" she agreed. "So, I got paid in beef that week."

"I bet you didn't expect that."

She shrugged. "At least I can eat. And I've learned what to expect around here is a whole lot different than where I come from."

Ferg took a swig of iced tea that she had sat in front of him. "Chicago, huh?"

"Born and raised."

"Yeah. I guess it is different from here." Ferg gestured around them to the open pastures still dotted in shady spots with snow, the white-capped mountains in the distance a backdrop to all of it.

"Prettier, that's for sure. And cleaner. But, definitely more . . ." Annie searched for the word.

"Lonely?" Ferg offered.

She chuckled. "I think I was going for _secluded_. Plus, I get enough of the patrons at The Red Pony to not worry about feeling lonely. Solitude is nice after you deal with that most nights!"

_Not to mention my previous job in Chicago . . ._

His brow furrowed in thought. "Does what happened last night really happen most nights?"

Her smile was mischievous. "What're you gonna do? Punch them all in the nose?"

His obvious embarrassment made her reach across the table and pat him on the arm. "I was just kidding, Ferg, really. And no, they aren't that bad. Just . . . drunk. Harmless." Looking to steer the subject away from herself, she motioned towards him with her fork. "You never told me what was up with that vest."

Ferg looked down, almost as if he forgot he was wearing it. "Oh. This thing? Normal day-off apparel, I guess." He shrugged and picked up his knife to carve off another slice of steak. "Plus, when you're doing work with little pieces involved, it helps to have somewhere to stick them." He patted the jacket, then reached in one of the small pockets and pulled out a handful of washers and laid them on the table.

They both looked at the little pile.

"Should there have been pieces left over?" Annie asked.

"There usually is. And I have yet to figure that out," Ferg admitted, patting the rest of the pockets to see if there were any more pieces of plumbing.

Annie shrugged and continued eating. "Honestly, I can't say that the plumbing in that thing didn't leak already. But, it sure won't now, leftover pieces or no! In fact, before I forget," she sat down her fork and reached in her back pocket, pulling out two twenties and sliding it over towards him.

He tried to push it back.

"You came out here on your day off to crawl around in the mud, and I'll be damned if I don't give you _something_," she practically growled.

"You did. This is the best meal I've had in weeks!" He left the money alone next to his plate.

Annie looked at him intently, exasperated until he sighed and put the money in his vest pocket.

"Buy you some fishing lures or something."

"Oh, I make all those."

Annie's fork stopped halfway to her mouth. "_Make_ them?"

"Oh yeah!" His eyes lit up. "I've even thought about marketing some of them to local businesses. Everyone who uses them says they always catch the biggest trout when they use them. In fact, Henry won't use anything _but_ my lures." He couldn't help but look proud at this fact.

Annie had to smile at his enthusiasm. "You make it sound fun. But, I can honestly say I've never been fishing before in my life."

Ferg looked so horrified, she had to laugh. "What? I'm a city girl! From Chicago! I don't know if you've ever been to Chicago, but you don't even want to _swim_ in the river, let alone _eat_ out of it!"

He sat his fork down. "You really don't know what you're missing." He motioned towards the mountains. "The water is so clear, you can see all the fish just waiting to be caught! Everyone once in awhile one will jump into the air, and the sun will catch all the colors on it and it looks like it's practically glowing when it hits the water. And just being outside . . ." Clearly, this was something he enjoyed immensely judging by the animation on his face.

"You make it sound so . . . so . . . peaceful," Annie said wistfully, her chin propped in her hand. Peace had been something she had been sorely missing lately, with worrying about bills and her frozen pipes.

And her past sneaking up on her . . .

"Let me take you next weekend."

Startled out of her self-pity, Annie stared at him. "Fishing? _Me_?"

"Yes, you! You'll like it, I swear!"

She wanted to smile at his enthusiasm, but her wariness won out. "I dunno . . ."

When Ferg's face fell, she realized how he had taken her hesitation and mentally cursed herself. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached across the table and put her hand on his arm. "I'm really not the nature-type. Chicago city girl, remember?" Her hesitation certainly had nothing to do with the fact that she would be alone with him, and she wanted him to know it. In fact, she actually thought it _would_ be kind of fun . . .

He returned her hesitant smile. Annie was glad to see it. "I find that hard to believe. You get dirtier crawling around in an engine all day taking it apart than you would fishing."

"But, at the garage, there's no bugs. Or snakes. Or slippery fish." She made a face.

"I swear I will protect you from all bugs and snakes."

She felt her resistance waning. "And the fish? You won't make me touch them, will you?"

He couldn't help but laugh as he held up his right hand. "I swear you will not have to touch any fish!"

"Well . . . you talked me into it!"

"Great! I promise you'll have a good time!"

"I'll take your word for it. And don't make me wear one of those vests, either."

"You'll wish you had one at 4 in the morning for the warmth if anything." He laughed at the look of horror on her face.

"Wait . . . 4 _a.m_.? Nobody said anything about getting up at 4 a.m.!"

He patted her hand familiarly. "It'll be alright, I promise. I'll even bring the coffee."

"You better," she groused. "I am _not_ a morning person."

After he left, Annie realized something important.

She had a good time today. It was certainly a whole lot better day than she thought it was going to be when she got up this morning.

And she really _was_ lonely. Although he'd only been here for the morning, and the fact that she'd only known him a few days, she missed having him there to talk to. It had been a long time since she felt comfortable enough to talk to anyone without wondering what their ulterior motives were or what she would have to give in return.

Until she picked up his empty plate and found the two folded-up twenties hiding underneath.


	8. I Can't Shoot a Bear

Ferg knew he was in all kinds of trouble. Not only did he look forward to this fishing trip a little more than any others, but he couldn't keep his eyes off her. What he found especially fetching was the way she chewed on her bottom lip as she concentrated on casting. It did something to his insides he couldn't quite explain.

He tried not to think about it.

And tried not to think about the fact he was watching her more than fishing himself.

When he picked her up that morning a little after 4, he was pretty sure she was not quite awake, only a cursory 'good morning' until she had two cups of coffee. Although she wasn't chatty, he decided to keep his mouth shut until she had enough caffeine. Some people just weren't wired to be chipper in the morning, and it looked like Annie was one of them.

By the time they arrived at a parking area for one of the mountain streams he preferred, the sun was just coming up over the horizon. On their trek to the creek, he had to stop on more than one occasion and wait for her. Not because she was lagging behind – Annie might have been a city girl, but she was in excellent physical shape.

Not that he noticed or anything.

But, she kept stopping and looking around. He finally realized she was in awe of her surroundings – the rocks and snow and blue sky. She was mesmerized by _all_ of it.

And he was mesmerized by her.

He had warned her to wear the warmest clothing she had, and he would supply all the fishing gear. He was pretty sure the gloves and fleece-lined hat were new, but the camouflage military jacket she wore looked like it may have come from the military surplus store just outside of town.

Anything had to be warmer than the little jacket she wore the night of the fight.

During their trek through the mountain path, they both wore orange vests. She seemed a little alarmed at the thought someone may shoot at them, but raised in a rural area, Ferg knew better to be safe than sorry.

He tried his best not to laugh at her as he walked her patiently through the equipment – the waders and fly rods and reels and even the flies. The sun was well up in the sky before he started showing her how to cast.

She may not be as colorful with the English language as Vic, but she sure came in a close second!

However, as she started to get the hang of it, her muttering ceased, and when she caught her first fish, you would have thought she won the lottery! He coached her on reeling it in, and the little trout gleamed in the sunlight as she held it up over her head in triumph.

She looked so disappointed when he told her she had to put it back because it was too small that he almost let her keep it.

By the time the sun crept westward, they had a cooler full of fish of an acceptable size. He kept casting as Annie lounged on the bank by the campfire he had started, carefully surrounded by rocks. The last thing he wanted to do was be responsible for starting a fire that burned millions of acres, a common occurrence in these parts lately.

When he finally grew weary and made his way back to shore, he had to smile at the sight of her curled up next to the fire, using her coat as a pillow, snoring away.

Shedding his waders, he settled across from her as he started to clean his gear. However, his eyes kept straying to her still form and before he knew it, he was watching her.

Always a little wary of everyone going on around her, her features were relaxed as she slept, the small wrinkles between her eyes smoothed out. Tiny lines that formed when he asked questions about her. Personal questions. Questions you would ask anyone you had just met and were spending the day together fishing. He may not have been the best trained in interrogation, but he sure caught onto signs she was hiding . . . something. What, he didn't know.

But, it couldn't be too bad. Right?

Whenever the conversation strayed to her, he noticed she would steer it away by asking about him. His job. His car. Fishing. Although she would talk about her childhood and tell funny stories her dad always told about various cases he worked, she rarely mentioned anything recent about herself.

Ferg couldn't possibly imagine her hiding anything so awful she felt she couldn't even talk about it. She was just private. A lot of people were, after all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The smell of frying fish woke Annie. Sitting up and stretching, she found out sleeping on the cold, hard ground wasn't all that it was cracked up to be as her muscles screamed in protest.

"You were sleeping so well, I didn't have the heart to wake you."

She watched as he turned the fish on the makeshift grate on top of their fire, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "Fresh air must agree with me. I don't think I've slept that soundly since I've been here." Her stomach grumbled, and she couldn't help but sniff the air. "Wow! That smells fantastic!"

"See, you aren't so bad at this country stuff! I told you that you'd like it!"

Annie glanced around as at the dusky darkness around them. If it wasn't for the fire, she didn't think she'd been able to see a few feet in front of her.

"What's wrong?" Ferg asked, noting her hesitation.

"Well . . . I . . . uh . . . I," she sighed, "I gotta pee," she finally admitted.

Ferg pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Second tree on your right."

Annie sighed hugely. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"Country living _can_ be overrated," he admitted.

She stood for a moment looking out into the darkness. "Isn't there . . . uh . . . bears and stuff?"

Ferg listened for a minute. "Bears aren't known for sneaking up on people. They're a little big for that. I think you're alright."

As usual, Annie looked skeptical.

"Here. Take this if it'll make you feel better." Ferg reached under his coat and handed her the butt end of his .22 he usually took when he ventured into the woods.

She just stared at it in his hand and didn't take it.

"I can't . . . shoot a bear!"

He chuckled. "You couldn't bring a bear cub down with this thing! Just shoot it into the ground near it. They don't like the noise It'll scare it off for sure!"

She still wouldn't take it. "I . . . uh . . . I don't think I should."

Ferg dropped his hand to his side. "You've never fired a gun before, have you?"

Annie shook her head so quickly, her hair fell in her face. Pushing it out of her eyes, she tried not to let him know how embarrassed she was about this. Why, she didn't know. Maybe because he was a cop. And he grew up living next to Davy Crockett shooting bears and stuff. She didn't want him to think she was a wussy . . .

"I thought all you Chicago types were a little gangster," he teased.

She swallowed hard and managed a smile. She wasn't sure why she thought Ferg would think less of her, but of course, she should've known better. "It's been a long time since the Mob was in control."

Hesitantly, she turned back towards the darkness, her bladder reminding her that she didn't have much of a choice.

"I won't let the bears get you, I swear," Ferg said from behind her.

"I probably wouldn't taste good, anyway. Too much city pollution in my veins," Annie tried to make light of the situation as she left the comfort of the fire.

She wasn't convinced a bear _wouldn't_ get her until she scurried back to the fire, stopping to wash her hands in the river. The biting cold water made her catch her breath, and she put her hands up to the warmth of the flames to dry them.

"You know, it's strange," she started. "I think nothing of walking down a city street in questionable neighborhood in the middle of the night, but these woods at dark kinda scare me."

"If they didn't bother you a little, you'd be in trouble," Ferg admitted as he turned the fish again. Annie found herself taking a deep breath of the aroma. "When you get comfortable, something usually sneaks up behind you."

Annie tried not to think of the implications to her current status in life his comment had.

A bear wasn't the only thing that would sneak up on her . . .

He chuckled as she turned and looked nervously over her shoulder. "What about panthers? Are there panthers?"

Ferg shrugged. "Some. Wolves, mainly. But, they tend to shy away from people. Bears are more curious. Especially with the smell of these fish cooking." He gauged her reaction. "You know, we could see one tonight!"

At the look on her face, he laughed. "I'm kidding! Seriously!"

"You better be," she shook her finger at him playfully. "And is there something I can do to help besides sitting her fretting about bears sneaking up on me? You've seriously done all the work here."

"Hand me that plate over there," Ferg motioned towards a day pack, and Annie dug two blue metal camping plates out of it, obediently holding both of them as he pulled several of the trout off the plate, steam rising from the crispy meat.

Balancing her own plate in her hands, she rummaged in the cooler nearby, pulling out two beers and handing him one before settling back down at the fire.

Annie hadn't realized how hungry she was until she bit into the tender fish. Not only was it the freshest fish she'd ever had, but it tasted wonderful!

"You even thought to bring seasoning!" Annie said between bites. "You really must do this a lot."

He shrugged. "Sometimes if I have a couple days off, I'll come up here and camp."

"And sleep on the ground? Out in the open?" Annie said, stopping eating long enough to gape at him incredulously.

"You make it sound like a bad thing," Ferg teased gently. "I have a small tent I'll bring with me."

"Oh. Well . . . you might as well be sleeping out in the open. It wouldn't keep out a bear, I bet," she took a swig of beer and continued devouring her fish.

"You and bears," Ferg said shaking his head. "You must have been traumatized at the Chicago zoo when you were little or something."

"I don't like the unknown. It scares me," she found herself admitting. "And I didn't grow up with all this, so it's a little daunting." She motioned around them towards the darkness, the only thing she could see illuminated by their small fire being trunks of trees standing gloomily nearby.

"It's not so bad once you get used to it," Ferg said. "I imagine if you set me loose in Chicago with the traffic and the noise and the pollution, I would go insane!"

"You probably would. You mountain men types wouldn't last two minutes, no matter how tough you are!" Annie said with a laugh.

"Oh yeah? Well, I bet you never saw anything like that in Chicago." Ferg motioned over her shoulder.

Annie had to admit after glancing over her shoulder that it was the most beautiful site she had seen since she'd arrived in Wyoming. And that said a lot since many things had given her pause.

"Oh!" she gasped, setting down her last piece of fish and turning away from the fire.

The moon had started to rise in the east, and it was the largest one she'd ever seen. In fact, she thought if she reached out, she could touch it and feel its rough surface. Because the air was so crisp and clean, she could make out the craters and shadows on it. "Oh . . ._wow_!" It was all she could think to say.

She wasn't sure how long she gaped at it, but Ferg's voice brought her back to reality.

"Thank you."

She tore her gaze away from the sight and looked at him across the fire. "For what?"

He chose his words carefully. "Living here all your life, you grow accustomed to the beauty of it all. I guess you've reminded me to stop and enjoy it every now and then."

She smiled gratefully at him. "I guess I should thank you for bringing me up here. I enjoyed it way more than I thought I would." She flexed the sore muscles in her arms from all the casting she had done.

Actually, she had been looking forward to it more than she had a right, but she would never admit that to him. "It was the getting up at the butt crack of dawn that almost did me in." Right on cue, she yawned hugely.

"Yeah, I guess we do need to be getting back," Ferg admitted reluctantly.

"Do we _have_ to?" Annie surprised herself by asking.

"Do you really want to sleep on the ground tonight with nothing between you and the bears but a little piece of canvas?" Ferg asked.

It didn't take her long to decide. "You have a point." Rising, she gathered their plates to wash them in the cold water of the river as Ferg went about putting out the fire. She hefted the day back on her back and held onto the cooler while he held the poles and tackle box, his Maglite and the moon shining the way.

Annie's teeth were chattering by the time they reached his car, and after stowing the gear, Ferg cranked the car and turned the heater on high. It didn't take long for the interior to warm as Annie held her hands up to the vents.

"It gets cold in Chicago, but this is a different sort of cold," Annie admitted. "It eats into your bones almost." She flexed her fingers inside her gloves, glad she sprung for the fleece-lined ones.

"Probably has a lot to do with the wide open range," Ferg said as he motioned towards the darkness surrounding them on the two-lane highway. On occasion, a weak light from inside a house would shine through, but mainly, it was just plain dark. "There's nowhere for the wind to go."

She knew when they hit civilization. Ferg's cell phone chimed the moment it hit a single bar. Before he could even check it, it rang.

"Hello? Yeah, I've been up here at the creek fishing. Really? Really! At the old warehouse out on 68? Yeah, I'll be there in about 45 minutes. Well . . . I have a passenger I need to drop off."

Annie knew she was eavesdropping, but it was hard not to. And she wasn't sure if she was offended that he wouldn't tell whoever was on the other line that it was her he had spent the day with.

What was there to be embarrassed about?

_Get ahold of yourself, Ann . . ._

"Yeah. See you in a little bit."

Ferg ended the call and sat the phone back in the console.

Annie looked down at the phone then back at him, the lights from the console shining dimly on his determined features. "Duty calls, huh?"

"Unfortunately." He shifted, looking like he was trying to decide if he should tell her. He made up his mind. "Some kids found a body behind an old warehouse on the other side of the county."

"Oh." She looked back out the windshield where the headlights of the old Trans Am were the only lights to be seen. "Is that common around here?"

"Human nature is human nature, no matter where you are, I guess," she couldn't help but note the sadness in his voice.

And boy was he ever correct about that.

The RV park was quiet when he pulled the car when they returned. Ferg put the car into park, but left the ignition on, the rumble of the powerful engine filling the silence.

Annie hadn't realized how much she enjoyed the day until she realized it was going to have to end.

She must not have been the only one. Instead of booting her out of his car, Ferg chose to keep talking. "Anymore leaks?" he motioned out the windshield where his headlights were shining dimly on the chrome of the old Airstream.

"Not a one. But, the weather's been warmer since that night."

"It won't last."

Annie made a face. "You keep reminding me of this fact." She turned to look at him, her hand on the door handle. "And I really did have a great time."

He smiled at her. "Don't sound so surprised."

Returning his smile, she opened the door, the chilly air cutting through the warmth of the car.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Annie paused and looked at him, curious. "Sure."

Ferg didn't look quite so sure of himself. "This is gonna sound strange but . . . did you play softball?"

She chuckled and cocked her head. "That _is_ a strange question."

She could see his blush from the lights of the dashboard. "Henry guessed it after you beaned that guy with empty pitcher. I guess I was just wondering if . . . he was right."

"Isn't he usually?"

"Yeah." Ferg looked so unhappy about this fact that she couldn't help but laugh aloud.

He waited until she had unlocked the door to her camper before putting the car in reverse and heading out the way he had come in.

He didn't notice the two folded twenties sitting on the seat until he arrived at the warehouse, already surrounded by local cruisers, blue lights flashing lazily in the darkness.

He couldn't help but grin.


	9. She is Not Even Registered to Vote

**Author's Note: Vic's colorful use of the English language in this chapter will reflect the fact that book Vic is a whole lot more entertaining to write than A&E's version of Vic. Carry on!**

Annie read in the local paper _The Durant Courant_ – how cute that it rhymed! - she found sitting on the bar one slow evening a few days later about the woman's body dumped behind the warehouse a few miles out of town. The reporter even summarized a short list of similar MOs – young women found beaten to death, their bodies dumped unceremoniously outside of town – that had occurred all summer long.

In fact, the entire article read so much like one that she would have seen in _The Tribune_ at home that it saddened her.

Ferg was right. Human nature is human nature, even in such a hauntingly beautiful setting as this.

As a result, the Absaroka County Sheriff's Office had been quite busy. In fact, Annie had heard more than one patron bashing the understaffed office, wanting to know 'how many girls have to die before they _do_ something.' On each occasion it happened within earshot, Annie made sure to take up for them, her favorite comeback being, "Well, since none of you have voted an increase in their budget, they just have to make do with what you give them."

Her tips suffered on those occasions, but at least she felt better putting in her two-cents' worth.

She tried not to think about why it riled her so much. And why she felt the need to take up for them. She only met Ferg and Branch, and the jury was still out on Branch.

Unsafe territory, to be sure.

She'd texted Ferg a few times since their fishing trip, but Annie didn't feel like she knew him long enough and well enough to ask how the case was going.

She still worried about him. And tried her damnedest not to.

How silly was _that_? All he did was be nice to her and take her fishing – nothing that should make her wonder how he was and how this case was affecting him and if comments like what she kept hearing people say bothered him . . . the list went on and on.

Thursday night was slow, and after washing all the dishes and cleaning all the tables, Annie found herself idly wiping down the liquor bottles behind the bar for something to do. There were a couple of people drinking alone in the far corners of the place, but she could easily watch them from where she was. Idly, she eyed the mantel covered in old Indian relics that Henry probably picked up at a five and dime. They hadn't been dusted since the place was open, and she was so desperate to keep her hands occupied she thought about climbing up there and cleaning all of them.

That was the problem with being a mechanic. If her hands weren't occupied, her mind tended to wander. And tonight, she didn't like where it was going.

Feeling eyes on her, Annie looked towards her patrons.

But none of them wanted a refill. They weren't even paying her any attention.

Annie's eyes strayed to the bar. A blonde, her hair pulled back in a harsh ponytail wearing the tightest jeans Annie had ever seen was watching her from the other end.

Annie hadn't even heard her come in.

Watching may have been an understatement – glaring at her was probably a more correct assumption.

Thankfully, Henry had appeared and produced a beer, so she didn't have to go see what she wanted.

That was fine. While she could play the catty woman game with the best of them, she sure wasn't going to initiate it.

Watching her out of the corner of her eye as she wiped down a bottle of Jack Daniels Black, Annie realized who this was after she shifted in her chair, the gold star on her uniform shirt gleaming from the light from the fireplace.

So, _this_ was the notorious Victoria Moretti.

Annie had heard a lot about her. While Ferg spoke highly of her, most everyone else tended to think otherwise. Especially women. Or anyone who had been on the wrong end of her attitude. Which was pretty much everyone.

And didn't she hear something about Vic and the sheriff sleeping together?

Now _that's_ an interesting tidbit of information.

And just why in the hell did Vic staring at her make her feel like a squirrel in the headlights?

"Hey, Annie – can you bring that bowl of pretzels over here?" Henry called to her.

Damn.

"Sure-" Resigned to her fate, Annie went for the bowl on the other side of the bar.

"You know I don't want any of those fucking pretzels. Just bring your pint-sized ass down here, so I can interrogate you."

Annie stopped mid-stride for a few seconds.

Interrogate her? For what?

She'd done nothing wrong.

In _this_ state at least.

Shaking off her paranoia, she sauntered down the bar in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner, tossing the bowl towards Vic. It slid to a stop, a few of the stale pretzels falling out. "If you want to blame me for the shitty snacks, don't. Good Chief Cheap-O here is the one to interrogate for that."

Vic popped one of the pretzels from the bowl into her mouth. "Are you going to let her talk to you like that? Shouldn't you fire her or something?"

Annie wasn't quite sure if Vic was serious or not.

Henry shrugged. "If I threw every woman out of my life that treated me questionably, I would be notoriously alone for the remainder of my pitiful existence."

Vic's bark of laughter startled Annie, and she hoped the other woman didn't notice her jump.

And just as quickly, her piercing eyes settled back on Annie. Annie wondered what she did to deserve such scrutiny.

"A little nervous?" Vic motioned with another pretzel before popping it in her mouth.

_Actually, yes, I am_.

Annie remembered something Ferg had told her about Vic being a highly decorated member of the Philadelphia PD before coming to Wyoming. Not much got past her, apparently.

She put her hand on her hip, more than a little annoyed. "Questions don't bother me. But pushy women coming into my place of business and making borderline threats does."

Vic snorted. "Place of business, HA!" She took a sip of her beer and pointed her mug at Annie. "Now I know why you have half our sheriff's department so enamored with you."

Annie spoke before she realized what she was saying, "You mean Ferg?" She colored as she said it and mentally cursed herself.

Both of them missed Henry's smile.

"Ferg? I was talking about _Branch_!" Vic said, setting her mug down with a thump.

"I thought maybe you were talking about Walt," Henry said with a straight face.

Vic's glare would have had other men cowering in the corner, but Henry just stared right back, the ghost of a smile on his face.

Annie was just glad the glare wasn't aimed at her that time. "I figured Connally hated me for ruining his manicure by making him replace his own tire."

Vic returned her intense gaze to Annie, but with much less of a punch. In fact, her smile was almost as intense as her glare.

Now Annie could see what the sheriff saw in her.

"That fucker crawling around on the ground in front of the courthouse was the funniest thing I'd seen in a _week_! Hell, I could have kissed you for that, and I'd never even met you!"

Annie smirked, just glad to have the other woman laughing. "We could sell tickets to that, don't you think?"

Vic's laughter made even the drunkest patron turn bleary eyes their way. "Fuck yeah! I could finally afford to pay my rent!" Her laughter faded, but her almost-feral smile remained. "You know, that really explains a lot."

"What?" Annie had picked up a rag to wipe down the counter, more out of nervous energy than anything.

"You and the Ferg dating –every time Branch brings you up, Ferg glares at him like he wants to staple his head to the floor."

"We're _not_ dating," Annie said a little too forcibly, focusing on a nonexistent stain on the counter.

Vic ignored her. "At first, I thought maybe he was mad because Branch and Cady were back together. He always had a thing for Cady."

Annie stopped wiping long enough to make Vic snicker.

Henry intervened. "The man rescues you from bodily harm, repairs the frozen water pipes in your home, takes you fishing, and you are not dating?"

Annie turned her head to stare into her boss's dark eyes. "How do you seriously know all that?"

"I was here for the rescue."

"I mean . . . the _rest_ of it!" Annie said, waving her rag annoyingly. In fact, this entire conversation was getting on her last nerve.

Vic shrugged. "Small town. And Henry has this Indian gossip thing going on. He's worse than a woman."

"Thank you," Henry said seriously. "Also, do not forget you have chewed everyone's head off who dares to make derogatory comments concerning our local sheriff's department."

Vic stared at her, then Henry. "No shit? We actually have a _supporter_?"

"And she is not even registered to vote in this county."

Annie felt the onset of a huge headache. And it had nothing to do with the stench of bleach from the bucket of water underneath the bar.

"Soooooo, Ferg rescued you? Really? _Our_ Ferg?" Vic hunkered down like she was ready for a good juicy story.

Annie tossed the rag in the bucket, sloshing soapy water over the sides. She knew there was no getting rid of Vic without telling her the story. "He stood up for me when everyone else in this bar," she glared at Henry for emphasis, but he returned her gaze, clearly unfazed, "_disappeared_ on me."

"Punched one poor fellow out cold. He was still out when he was unceremoniously drug out of her by his inebriated friends," Henry added.

"Well, fuck me," Vic said, clearly impressed. "I didn't know he had it in him."

"That is the general sentiment," Henry agreed.

Annie shrugged, hoping she looked like she hadn't pondered that herself. "I'm glad he did. I had no desire to be hauled out of here like a cavewoman."

Vic snorted. "You don't strike me as someone who would allow that to happen."

"She creamed one with a pitcher and the other with a tray before Deputy Ferguson stepped in," Henry admitted solemnly.

"See?" Vic motioned towards Henry. "You were clearly outnumbered and fought back."

"Instinct, I guess."

Vic leaned forward. "Most people don't have that kind of instinct. In fact, cows led to slaughter tend to be the instinct of most normal citizens."

Annie didn't like the way Vic was staring at her again, but managed to keep her gaze steady. "I guess I'm not most people then."

"Hey! Whatta I have to do to get another beer around here!"

Henry motioned towards Annie. "You are being paged."

For the first time in her life, she was glad for impatient drunks. "Yeah, yeah, I hear him." Whipping out a clean pitcher, she filled it from the tap.

"Since you're dating the Ferg, I guess I'll see you around, huh?" Vic called out to her back as she moved away from her as fast as she could.

"We're not dating!" Annie called over her shoulder crossly as she scurried away.

"They're dating," Vic said to Henry.

It was Henry's turn to shrug. "I do not think either one of them knows how to answer that question."

Vic had left before Annie returned to the bar. She dumped the empties in the sink, returning to fiercely cleaning every bottle on the shelf as if her life depended on it.

Henry could see it coming a mile away.

_Three . . . two . . . one . . ._

She stopped, turning to look at him her hand on her hip, huffing a strand of hair out of her face.

"So . . . who in the hell is this Cady?"

This time, Henry couldn't hide his grin if he wanted to.


	10. Is That an Order?

_Tonygirl's note: Thanks to all the guest reviewers - I can't reply to guests, but I wanted to let you know that you're appreciated. And to everyone who wants to know Annie's history - it's getting there, I swear! I just sat down and broke down this whole thing into chapters (because tonygirl = dork about writing these things out entirely before they're posted!), and I think 14 is the doozy. I guess if I made the chapters massive it would be sooner. But I hate extremely long chapters. Or maybe I just like to torture you. Anyway . . . carry on!_

To say Ferg had had a shitty day was an understatement. Honestly, this investigative stuff really got to him sometimes. Branch was miles ahead of him in that area. And of course, he always made sure to rub it in when he caught something before Ferg did. Which was often.

To top it all off, something was wrong with the starter on his car. Because of the murder – the fourth in four months – he hadn't had time to work on it himself.

Shitty day indeed.

Sitting at his desk trying his damnedest to finish his paperwork, the evening sun streamed in the front windows just making him more annoyed for some reason. He just wanted to go home and forget the last couple of days ever happened.

Except for the time he spent with Annie. In fact, he wished he could dwell on it all day long . . .

Over the warmth of the sun, he could feel eyes staring at him.

Great. It just keeps getting worse.

He didn't even look up as he scrawled on the report – a break-in at a local deli. "What?"

"I met your girlfriend last night."

Ferg's pen paused over the report. It took him a moment to realize who she was even talking about.

"Annie?"

"How many girlfriends do you _have_?" Vic laughed.

He returned to the paperwork with renewed vigor, hoping she didn't notice the flush growing up his neck. "She's _not_ my girlfriend."

"At least you two are on the same page. She said the same thing."

Ferg couldn't help the little jolt of disappointment that shot through him, but shook it off as mere foolishness. Kid's stuff. He took her fishing, that's all. She couldn't help if he couldn't stop thinking about her. Or if his heart skipped a beat in his chest when he saw her name on the display of his phone when she texted him. Or when he thought about her, still wondering about that little scar on her forehead . . .

Vic propped her boots on the corner of her desk and leaned back in her chair, a position that was not uncommon to see the sheriff in as well. "I don't know if I like her."

"You don't like anybody," Ferg said. His comment wasn't meant to hurt – he was only stating the truth.

Vic didn't take it the wrong way. "True. And I don't know if I like the competition."

Now Ferg was truly confused and actually looked up at her. "Huh?"

Vic stood, grinning, and reached over and patted him fondly on the cheek as she walked towards the door. "Go see her. Get her to fix that old heap of yours. I know you can do it yourself, but a woman likes to feel needed, you know." She winked at him from the doorway. "And it'll give you that excuse you need to see her again."

She didn't wait for a reply as she slammed the door behind her, Ruby looking up in disapproval.

Ferg didn't know what alarmed him the most – that Vic could tell he was desperate to find another reason to see her or if Annie herself knew, too.

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Annie hadn't even realized she'd been listening for the familiar sound of the V-8. Unconsciously, she had given up on hearing it. Ferg hadn't tried to contact her all week, and instead of looking like some needy weirdo, she had decided it would be best to stop texting him. She needed to stop being so foolish – after all, he had only offered her friendly gestures to help her out and get her acquainted with the area – nothing more and nothing less. She could tell herself all day long that he was busy with his job. He wasn't her type, after all. She always went for more muscles. More charisma. More charm. Nothing like Ferg.

And look where it had gotten her, too.

Luckily, she didn't have to work at The Red Pony that night, so she stayed a little late to finish Mrs. Bates's old Mercury. Engine work could be tricky business, but the work soothed her mind. It was predictable. Calming.

And when the engine growled into the lot, tires crunching on the gravel, she trying to ignore the way her heart sped up as she stared at the Mercury's timing belt without really seeing it.

_Oh my God. Get a grip, Ann_.

And since Fred Ray had gone for the day – he actually trusted her to lock up now, believe it or not – she had to greet him whether she wanted to or not.

Wiping her hands on a rag to get rid of most of the oil just to buy her some time to collect her wits – really, why in the hell should this be so difficult? – she met him at the bay doors.

She spoke first. "Hey."

"Hey."

Some greeting, huh?

To avoid her annoyance with herself, she studied him. He looked tired. There were lines around his eyes she had never noticed before. It surprised her. Made her heart lurch in her chest to think about what he had seen and what he was going through.

She found herself offering him a lopsided smile to help alleviate some of his stress. "You sound about as beat as you look."

He tried to return it. "It's been a _looong_ week."

"Sounds like we should have stayed on that mountain in that tent."

His chuckle made him sound a little more like himself as he dug his sunglasses out of his pocket against the glare from the setting sun over the mountains in the west. "You got that right."

They stood in silence for a moment. Annie turned her face towards the breeze – it had grown hot inside the garage with those infernal propane heaters that she always complained were going to blow them to smithereens going at full blast all the time. The chilly breeze actually felt good, and she swiped at the strands of hair blowing across her face.

She caught Ferg watching her, his eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses.

"What?" she asked self-consciously.

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Her clothes were smudged. Her T-shirt would probably never be white again. And when she brushed the hair out of her face, she left a streak of grease on her cheek.

And she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. In fact, he almost didn't hear her question over the roar in his ears over his blood rushing through his veins.

Without thinking, he reached out and wiped her cheek with his thumb. Her skin was soft despite the dirt, and he wanted to let his hand linger, but decided that was way out of line.

She looked startled but chuckled a little when his thumb came back filthy. "Oh, hell, I probably have more than that on me! I've been taking apart an engine today, and it's about done me in."

"You don't look it. In fact, you're the most refreshing sight I've seen all day." He meant it, too.

She blushed and looked skeptical at the same time. Looking at the ground, the toe of her work boot nudged in the dirt as she put her hands in her back pockets. "Really, I didn't realize your job was _that_ shitty."

Ferg acted like he was thinking. "Let's see . . . I had to dig through garbage today to look for any old prescription bottles on a case . . .I got spit on when I served a warrant up on Freedom Road . . . and don't forget the photos as evidence of our latest murder victim." He ticked them all off on his fingers.

Annie held up her hands. "Ok, Ok, I get it!" she laughed. He smiled just to hear it, some of the stress ebbing. She stopped and cocked her head, her brown hair falling over her shoulder. "I _have_ been wondering how you were doing with all that. The murders."

He shrugged, finding he had to restrain himself from brushing her hair off her neck just to see if it looked as silky as he thought it would be. "It comes with the territory."

"You're not a violent man. It's hard to deal with things like that."

Her comment took him so much be surprise that he was momentarily speechless.

She took his silence as embarrassment and backpedaled. "I'm from Chicago – I've seen a lot of violence, remember? The men who enjoy it the most are usually the most ruthless."

Not for the first time, he wondered exactly where she came from and what she'd been through.

But he still wasn't brave enough to ask.

She crossed her arms across her chest. "So, what brings you out here on my side of town? Did old Fred forget to pay his taxes on this piece of property or something? If so, I promise not to spit on you. I can't make any promises for Fred, though."

He realized she was teasing him and chuckled half-heartedly in return. He was never good at these sorts of games. That was more Branch's style.

"No – I . . . uh . . . well, I think my starter's going. That is – I'm sure it's the starter, but I haven't had a chance to look at it . . ." He trailed off, wondering if he sounded as silly as he felt.

Sure, he thought Vic actually had a good idea at first, but that's what he gets for following her advice.

"You mean, I get to help _you_ out for once? It's about damn time!" she said with a grin, marching towards his car and reaching inside the driver's door to pop the hood. "Start her up, and let me listen."

He obediently climbed halfway inside and reached for the keys. Of course, it hesitated, the obvious sound of grinding teeth unmistakable.

He still liked the way she cocked her head as she listened to it.

"Yep. Starter. I think I have one in here if you have a few minutes."

"Sure! I mean if you have the time . . ." his voice trailed off as he followed her into the cluttered storeroom.

"After all you've done for me, I always have time for you," she said honestly as she studied a few dusty boxes in on a shelf near the door.

It warmed his heart to hear it, although he doubted she meant it the same way he wanted to believe she did.

"Ah ha! Here it is! Last one, too!" Triumphantly, she waved the box over her head as she pulled it from the shelf. "Just let me grab a few tools."

Ferg felt weird watching her work on his car. Although it was a certainly a sight to behold – the lithe woman with a spray of freckles on her turned-up nose draped in the engine compartment, her butt wriggling with each turn of a stubborn bolt – he felt bad for watching her do all the work.

Especially when he could have done it all himself.

All this was just an excuse to see her, wasn't it?

She wouldn't let him help, just shushed him and made him stand out of the way of the setting sun, so she could see. Obediently, he did as he was told.

When she was done, she stood and stretched. "Ok. Try her now."

Of course, the Trans Am started like a charm.

He grinned at her as she gave him a thumb's up.

Turning off the engine, he reached for his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

She back up and put her hands in front of her. "Oh no! Not _this_ again! You do not owe me _one cent_! Not after all you've done for me!"

Ferg paused. "But, the starter! Mr. Ray's surely going to miss it-"

Annie snorted and waved off his protests with one hand. "Oh, pu-lease! I've brought so many of my own parts and pieces up here, that I can take one of his! Just go! Pay it forward or whatever you're supposed to do nowadays! Count it as my contribution to the thin blue line. Or whatever you like. Just _don't pay me_!" She backed away from him to make her point.

Ferg spit out the words before he realized what he was saying. "At least let me take you to dinner."

She paused, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head, the wind blowing her hair across her face once again. Ferg ached to reach out and push it away, but didn't dare.

"Are you asking me out, Deputy Ferguson?" Her tone was light, teasing. "Or is that an order?"

Ferg looked horrified at the thought. "I wouldn't order you to do anything!"

Her laughter echoed across the parking lot. "Smart man! And shouldn't you technically be taking Fred Ray out? You know, it _is_ his inventory!"

Flustered, Ferg wasn't quite sure what to say. "Uh . . . well . . . I think I'd rather take you out. You're . . . uh . . . prettier than he is." His blush deepened, and he suddenly felt like the biggest fool in Absaroka County, especially when she gave him that, 'Yeah, right,' look that looked similar to the one Vic and Ruby gave them all on occasion.

And he realized he better get out of here before he put his foot in his mouth again.

"That's OK, forget I asked . . ." he started to turn, wondering what possessed him to make such a mess of things in such a short span of time.

A firm hand on his arm made him stop. Of course, her grip was firm, strong. Just like her.

He looked into her eyes and realized at that moment how much shorter she was than him. Her eyes were kind and apologetic. "I'm just teasing. And yes, I'd love for you to take me to dinner. But, I really don't think I should go like this." She motioned down at her grease-stained jeans and shirt. "I think you deserve much better."

"I'd like you in anything," Ferg admitted, realizing how stupid that was right after he said it.

Why in the world is this so _difficult_?

Her smile widened. "I bet you would. Especially a fishing vest."

His earlier apprehension started to fade at her gentle teasing. "Especially that."

"Just let me take a quick shower and shut down the garage, and I'll be ready. Is that alright?"

He would have agreed to wait hours, but all he could do was nod.


	11. Sins of Omission

"I didn't know the garage had a shower," Ferg admitted as he took another bite of steak and watched her saw off a piece of hers. She had not yet been on the Rez, and they had decided to eat at the casino. It was pretty much the fanciest place to eat for miles around unless they wanted to settle for fast food or a bar.

She made a face. "You should have seen it when I first started working there. A Haz Mat team wouldn't touch it! But, if I wanted to be able to wash all that grease off me before I went to work at Henry's, I had no choice but to clean it." She took a bite of twice-baked potatoes and looked around. It was a classier place than she thought it would be, especially after the run-down appearance of the Rez. "This is great!"

"There's supposed to be a British-trained chef that works in the kitchen," Ferg admitted, taking a bite of his own steak.

"I bet he won't be here long."

"Probably not."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Annie liked that about him. She didn't feel like she had to fill the void with useless chatter to impress or entertain him. He seemed content either way. He certainly didn't have anything to say about her wearing a pair of old jeans and a navy blue turtleneck she happened to have in her truck. It was clean, at least. The way he kept glancing at her on the ride over, she wondered if maybe she was underdressed. Until she saw she looked like everyone else.

After all, Ferg was still in his uniform, anyway.

"Do you come out here often?" she asked as she took a sip of her beer.

"You have to if you want decent food after Dorothy's closed for the day."

"I haven't eaten there either. Isn't that near the courthouse?"

He nodded. "We eat there at work. A lot, in fact. She has a really good breakfast on the weekends."

"I'll have to try it out one day. So . . . I guess you don't cook much for yourself then?"

He looked a little embarrassed. "I won't starve as long as I have a can opener."

"You and most of the male populace, I imagine. But, don't feel bad. I'm no Paula Deen myself. I can make a few dishes, but my mom always lamented that I didn't stay in the kitchen more." She took her last bite of salad and went for the last roll in the basket. Well-cooked meals were few and far between, and she damn sure was going to enjoy this one.

"Apparently, you stayed out in your dad's garage more than in the kitchen," Ferg admitted.

Her smile was nostalgic. "My uncle's, actually. My dad couldn't work on cars if his life depended on it. But his brother could. My uncle lived just down the street, and raced cars. Drag."

"Wow! That's kinda neat!"

She made a face. "It was more trouble than it was worth, believe me! Once you paid for parts and labor and gas to get the thing to the strip, it never paid off. But gear heads will be gear heads."

He nodded in agreement, taking a swallow of beer before he broached the next question. "Is that what you've always done? Worked on cars?"

She took a bite of steak and chewed slowly to stall.

She hated these questions. Not because he was prying but because now that she knew him – and liked him - she hated to lie to him. Shrugging, she idly ran her finger along the rim of her water glass. "When I was little, it was. But once it came time to choose, I went another route. Got involved with . . . a different crowd. But, don't we all at that age?"

Her eyes met his, and she found him studying her, almost as if he were choosing his words carefully. "Well . . . better late than never?" he offered.

She smiled at him, relieved he wasn't going to push it. She took the opportunity to change the subject, something she'd gotten very good at. "Well, you've seen my humble abode at the RV park, but I have no idea where you live. Bachelor pad at Shady Heights?" She mentioned the only apartment complex in the county.

"I don't think I could live all up under people like that," Ferg admitted honestly. "I live off Hwy. 211."

"By yourself?"

"Well . . .yeah."

She cleared her throat, not accustomed to feeling so out of sorts. "What I mean is - what about your parents? Or brothers or sisters?" Apparently not a girlfriend or wife, but she pretty much figured that since there was no ring and he was here with her now and in no hurry to leave.

And that he was taking her out to dinner, of course.

"My mom died when I was little. I didn't have any brothers or sisters."

"I have a younger brother. I don't recommend it. It can be a royal pain."

He chuckled. "I used to wonder what it would be like to have a brother or even a sister. Someone that you knew would always be there to play hide and seek with you or talk to or anything like that."

"Or read your diary or spy on you and your dates or put dead squirrels in your bed." At the look on his face, she nodded. "Oh yes, dead squirrels. He was grounded for a week."

"Wh-what does he do now?" Ferg asked, obviously leery at her answer.

Her grin was mischievous. "He's not an ax murderer, if that's what you want to know."

"I figured maybe a mortician."

"It's better than that."

"Better?" Ferg almost looked hesitant to ask.

"He's going to veterinary school."

Ferg almost choked on his beer. "I guess he has to make up for all those dead squirrels somehow!"

"To give him some credit, he's not the one that killed them," she teased.

"That's good to know. I'm sure his patients will be thrilled!"

She laughed. "What about you? Did you always want to do this?" she motioned towards his star.

At his hesitation, she remembered what the drunks said the night he helped her out and hated that she asked.

He could tell she remembered and looked a little ashamed. "Well . . . no. I . . . uh . . . didn't really know what I wanted to do. I think that's what had my father so . . . concerned."

"That's what fathers do, right?" In fact, her own father tried to haul her out of her previous employer's – and lover's - business, but she wasn't going to share _that_ bit of information.

Ferg fiddled with his silverware as he spoke. "He found out he had cancer a couple years ago. It was just the two of us, and I took care of him the best I could, but . . ." he shrugged.

Without thinking about it, Annie reached out and put her hand over his. "You don't have to tell me-"

He looked at her hand on his, almost as if he couldn't believe it was there. Then, his eyes met hers. "No. That's alright I-I want to."

Annie didn't know if he realized he was doing it or not, but he linked his fingers with hers as he spoke. "My father was a carpenter and could make the most beautiful pieces of furniture you've ever seen. Tables, chairs, armoires and even small little pieces. Like figurines and stuff." He smiled at the memory. "He even did larger jobs sometimes, too. You know, framing and roofing on houses."

"I see where you get the ability to work with your hands," Annie said softly.

"I was never as good as he was," Ferg admitted. "Before he got too sick from the chemo to work, he made the sheriff – I mean Sheriff Longmire and Sheriff Connally-"

"Whoa, whoa, _wait_ a minute!" she interrupted despite herself. "Sheriff _Connally_? As in Branch _Connally_?"

"Branch's uncle. I'm surprised you haven't heard about him."

Annie paused. "Is he anything like Branch?"

"Worse."

He answered so solemnly, she had a giggle. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Go on," she motioned for him to continue.

Ferg took a deep breath like he was hoping she'd forget. "Well . . . my dad made the two of them a chess set."

"A chess set?"

Ferg cleared his throat and actually smiled. "They play a lot . . . in fact, they've been playing the same game of chess for almost 3 months now."

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Hmmmm . . . the sheriff didn't strike me as a chess man."

"It's in his office. When Lucian comes in, they make a few moves. They're both pretty good."

"Obviously."

"Anyway, Sheriff Longmire wanted to pay him, but my dad wouldn't take any of his money." He looked decidedly uncomfortable, and Annie squeezed his hand. Surprised, he looked down at their intertwined fingers, almost as if he forgot they were linked. He cleared his throat and continued. "My dad made him promise to hire me. That's probably why he did it all along. Small projects were difficult for him to do at the end."

"Did you _want_ to be a deputy?"

Ferg shrugged. "I wasn't really sure. I wasn't exactly a stellar student in high school and college just wasn't my thing, either."

"Too much time indoors."

He looked at her, surprised she understood. "Exactly!"

"What about the lures? You're good at those, right?"

"I didn't think it was enough to make a living, and neither did my dad."

"Well, I'm sure working for Absaroka County doesn't have you rolling in the dough, either."

"True. But, I'm lucky. The house was long paid for, and I've had the car since high school. But, he was worried about me. Once he was . . . gone, he wanted me to have something, I guess," Ferg shrugged. "So here I am."

She squeezed his fingers one last time before letting them go. "You still didn't answer my question."

"Huh?"

"Do you like it? Being a deputy?"

Ferg seemed to be thinking about it. "You know what? I actually kinda do. I mean, not the paperwork and the spitting and stuff-"

"I don't think any cop likes all of that." Her own father sure didn't.

"But, I do like helping people. And even the investigation part of it is neat. Like a puzzle with pieces hidden all over. Sometimes you don't need _all_ the pieces, but you better have a large enough amount of them to see the entire picture."

"My dad said a lot of the same things."

Ferg looked surprised almost as if he didn't believe her, making her feel the need to explain herself. "You cops really can have the same mindset whether you're in rural Wyoming or Chicago, you know."

This seemed to satisfy him, so she continued. "My dad said if he didn't have to deal with the assholes in the office and the politics all the time, he might actually like his job a little bit."

Ferg smiled at her gruff rendition of her father's voice. "Is your father still with the Chicago PD?"

Annie's smile faded, and she swallowed the last of her beer. A waitress appeared to refill, but she covered the glass with her hand and shook her head. Ferg wasn't sure at first if he was talking to him or to the waitress, then realized it was an answer to his question.

"Retired?" He kept fishing. He knew so little about her . . .

She sighed. "He died a few years ago. A . . .punk shot him in the back while he was on patrol." She wouldn't meet his eyes when she said it. So? She committed a sin of omission and didn't tell him the whole story. It's not like Ferg would ever find out or anything. Right?

When he didn't say anything, she looked up, her eyes meeting his. She expected to see pity. It's what she usually saw on peoples' faces, and she hated it. Such a useless emotion, pity.

But all she saw was concern.

When was the last time someone worried about her?

He cleared his throat nervously. "That must've been rough."

She managed a smile. "That's OK. I'm a big girl, remember?"

He didn't look like he was convinced, but he chuckled just the same. "What about your mom?"

"Well, this may sound harsh, but their marriage was almost over by then, anyway." Had a lot to do with her dad's extracurricular – and illegal - activities, actually. Another sin of omission. "She was upset, of course, but she had already checked out – you know, emotionally. She's living in Detroit with her sister now." Annie shrugged. "So . . . now you know all my gory secrets."

Well, not _all_ of them . . .

Ferg studied her for a moment. "Did you know?"

"Know what?" Annie asked, a little confused.

"About your parents? That they didn't love each other anymore."

It was a question no one had ever asked her, and she had to think about her answer, choosing her words carefully. Not because she was hiding anything this time but because she wanted to make sure she understood the answer herself. "Both me and my brother were out of the house by then. My brother in undergraduate school and me . . . being me." She left it at that. It was safer that way. "But I had wondered even before then. They never touched or even really talked. She stopped asking him about his day, and he stopped asking her anything at all." She thought for a moment. "I've never really thought about it until now, but I guess I had known for a long time. I don't know if they did or not," she finished lamely.

They sat for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. When the waitress offered the check, Ferg moved quickly enough to take it first. "Remember – this one is on me," he teased.

"Yes sir," Annie sassed.

They were both quiet on the ride back to the garage, Annie pleased to notice when his car started on the first try. She was even more surprised when he opened the car door for her.

When was the last time someone did that for her?

And why did he keep doing things like that to make her ask that same question?

"You have a busy day tomorrow?" Ferg asked a few miles from Ray's Garage.

"Actually, I'm working at the garage," she said, making a face.

"On Saturday? I didn't think Mr. Ray was open on Saturdays."

"He has some oil riggers coming in that need their trucks worked on. Some special job he does a few times a year. So, I guess I'm stuck."

"Too bad they won't pay in oil like that guy paid in beef. You might could take a month off then."

Annie smiled, surprised he even remembered her story about being paid in steaks.

The headlights illuminated her old truck parked next to Ray's garage. The only light was the one that weakly illuminated the sign on top of the building. Annie figured if it burned out, Ray wouldn't bother to fix it.

"Do you want me to follow you home?" Ferg asked as he put the car in park.

Out of sheer habit, Annie almost made a smart-aleck comment about wanting to do more than follow her home, but stopped herself just in time. That was not what he meant, and she knew it. But that's what the men before him would have thought. In fact, they wouldn't even have asked . . .

"I'll be fine. But thanks for asking. And for dinner."

"You're welcome. And thanks for fixing my car!"

She leaned in a little across the console, a smile playing on her lips. "I know you could fix it yourself, Ferg. But I'll let you slide this time." Without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. It was a familiar gesture, and when she pulled away, he looked so startled, she had to smile.

Instead of getting out of the car like she should have, something in that familiar gesture gave her pause, made her linger.

Waiting for . . . what?

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Ferg knew it was just a friendly act, but the gentle feel of her lips on his cheek surprised him. Not because of the gesture but because of the way it made him feel, almost like his heart had plummeted to his stomach. He found himself holding his breath, waiting.

This wasn't the first time she'd made him feel that way.

And now he figured she would climb from the car, wave to him once and leave. Much like she did that night he took her fishing.

But, she didn't. Of course.

She never did anything he expected.

She watched him for a moment, her elbow still leaning on the console, her face just inches from his. Her lips were parted slightly as she watched him, waiting.

He wasn't sure for what. He knew what _he_ wanted, but he was woefully out of practice in matters of the heart.

Turning in the seat, he reached out and did what he had wanted to do all evening. Hesitantly, his fingers brushed her hair from her cheek and pushed it behind her ear. Her hair was soft from her earlier shower, and he could smell flowers again – maybe orange blossoms? - as he let it run through his fingers.

She wasn't using Fred Ray's shampoo, to be sure.

She seemed amused by his touch. "You never cease to surprise me, you know?" she said softly.

"Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you," Ferg found himself admitting, wanting nothing more than to kiss her. To see if her lips were as soft as her hair. But he wasn't sure if he should.

She leaned in just enough to make his mind up for him.

Hesitantly, his lips brushed hers lightly. There was nothing passionate about the touch. Just a simple sign of affection brought on by his attraction to her.

But how could he _not_ be attracted to her? She was smart, bright, funny. And he couldn't stop thinking about her.

What made up his mind for him was not the feel of her lips, but something else entirely. By now, she had pulled back just enough to look at him in the dim light from the console. He wasn't sure what exactly she was looking for, and he realized he was holding his breath, his heart beating in his throat.

What she saw must have met with approval because she leaned in this time, putting her hand on his chest right over his heart. As their lips met again, her hand traveled to the back of his neck and into his hair, pulling him just that much closer as lips parted and tongues intertwined.

At this point, Ferg thought he was going to pass out. She tasted like beer and breath mints and something else – something that he figured must be just _her_. With the scent of her shampoo surrounding him, he suddenly realized that he wished that damn console wasn't between the two of them so he could pull her against him, see what she felt like in his arms, see if they were meant to fit together . . .

She pulled away first, flushed from the embrace but smiling. "Have a good evening, Deputy Ferguson."

When she opened the door, a blast of cold wind filled the overheated compartment, and he was damned grateful for it as he watched her saunter towards her truck. In fact for the first time since high school, a cold shower may be in order. Throwing him a little finger wave that he didn't have enough sense to return, she climbed inside, fired the truck up and was gone in a blast of exhaust, leaving him alone and grinning like an idiot.


	12. Motive and Opportunity

Annie didn't know why she did it – another common sentiment when it came to Ferg – but something in the way he kissed her the first time was part of the reason. It was certainly chaste, but there was an undertone there of something else. Annie could tell he wanted more, but he wasn't going to push it on her. He'd let her go at her own pace.

When was the last time a man didn't push himself on her and expect her to respond accordingly?

Not to mention the way he touched her. Her hair. Her cheek. He was so hesitant, yet utterly fascinated by her.

She kissed him like _she_ wanted be kissed. Which was apparently a lot like he had in mind if his reaction was any indicator.

And she had enjoyed it way more than she expected to.

It wasn't like she _wasn't_ attracted to him. She was . . . although he just wasn't her type. He'd been polite and courteous and helpful.

Maybe she had been going for the wrong guys all along because what woman wouldn't like polite and courteous and helpful?

In fact, she was so caught up in thinking about that silly little kiss like a high school girl that when someone came up behind her and slapped her on the ass, it caught her off guard.

Whirling, she wielded the wrench she had been using to change the fan belt on a huge, tricked out Chevy on one of the oil rigger's trucks as a weapon, ready to pound some sense into whoever this was –surely Fred would never . . .

It took her a moment to register the feral grin. Her eyes traveled to the well-worn cowboy hat, and her eyes narrowed, all the pieces falling into place.

Of all the oil riggers in the world, he had to walk into _her_ garage. She fumbled for a name. Stan.

"Don't you touch me again, you piece of shit!"

Piece of Shit seemed like a better name for him, anyway.

His tsk tsk made her want to bean him with the wrench. "That isn't a way to talk to a paying customer."

She tossed her head defiantly. "You're paying Fred Ray, not me. Go slap him on the ass and see what he has to say about it."

He licked his lips and looked her up and down. Inwardly, Annie shivered. She'd seen those looks before on many occasions. "I like yours much better." He pushed his hat back on his head, and she saw the greenish bruise that had almost healed from the pitcher to the forehead.

It gave her grim satisfaction to see it. "Leave. Now."

He looked just as satisfied as she did, his grin widening, but not quite reaching his eyes. "Not until you finish my truck."

"_Your_ truck? This is _your_ truck?" Of course, this asshat would have the nicest truck in the county.

"Wanna go for a ride?" he rocked back on his heels, well aware of the double innuendo.

"Not in this century or any other," Annie muttered, wondering about her dumb luck.

"I still owe you for that night, you know," he leaned towards her, and she stepped back instinctively. Right into the grill of his truck, the metal eating into her back.

Her eyes narrowed. She was scared of this man who towered over her by almost a good foot but damned if she'd let him know. "Yeah you owe me. You didn't even pay for the damages to the place."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," his breath was in her face, and it was all she could do not to flinch. "I've had a hard-on for you since I saw you, and if that fat ass deputy hadn't of been there-"

So intent was Stan on his threats and leers he forgot the number one rule of fighting with girls.

Always guard your crotch.

Her knee jerked, and she had him on his knees groaning. Triumphantly, she leaned over him. "If Deputy Ferguson hadn't of been there, I'd have kicked your ass," she whispered gleefully.

"Why you little bitch-" His hand reached out more quickly than she would have imagined – must have had a lot of ball shots in his time – and grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her down to his face.

"What's going on here?"

Fred Ray, God bless him.

Stan let her go, and she leapt out of his reach where she should have been all along, rubbing her forearm where it still stung.

"Do you know this man?" Mr. Ray asked her tersely.

Before Annie could reply, Stan spoke up, staggering to his feet. "I want to have her arrested for assault!"

Annie snorted. "Assault? You all but threatened to rape me, shit-for-brains! I was defending myself! And I took you down! Again!" She couldn't help but crow. It was a character flaw, to be sure, but damned if she hadn't taken the giant of a man down. Twice!

Stan was still crouched on the floor, but he lunged for her. "Listen here you little cunt-"

Fred Ray was between her and Stan before she realized it. Holding a big ass hammer, of all things.

"I would make you apologize to the lady, but you and I and probably her know it would mean nothing coming out of your foul mouth. We'll call you when your truck is ready." He motioned with the hammer they used to pound out dents in the sheet metal. "The door is that way."

Stan rose unsteadily, wiping the dust from his jeans. He eyeballed the shop owner for a moment, and Annie thought Fred may actually get a chance to use that hammer.

Instead, Stan cleared his throat mightily and spit, some of it landing on Annie's dirty boots.

Annie didn't move. She narrowed her eyes, but didn't say a word. Especially after she watched him limp out the door.

Fred tossed the mallet aside when Stan disappeared in the passenger seat of another tricked-out truck, this one not quite as nice as his.

They looked at each other for a moment. "Jesus, girl," Fred began, "I can honestly say that's never happened before."

Although her knees were shaking and threatening to cease holding her up, Annie couldn't help but tease the man, reaching out to steady herself on the shiny chrome bumper of Stan's truck. "What? You've never had little old ladies hungry for some lovin' show up and threaten to have you in the backseat of their Buicks?"

His chuckle made her feel a little better, so she joined in with him.

But it would take hours before her hands stopped shaking.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Vic studied the photos Branch had taken just that morning, what was left of the red and white-striped Chevy making her eyes widen. "Fuck it all, he must have been flying around that curve!"

"Right over the side," Branch admitted, sitting on the edge of her desk and trying not to knock over stacks of papers and files. Neatness wasn't Vic's strong point. "They had a helluva time getting him and the truck out of there."

She picked up another sheet, a copy of a driver's license. "Stanley McCormick." She studied the photo for a moment. "I bet he had a nice ass."

"Not anymore he doesn't," Branch said grimly. "And I'm beginning to wonder if it was really an accident."

Vic tossed the driver's license aside. "You're beginning to sound like Walt."

Branch rolled his eyes, and shrugged.

Vic sighed, her curiosity getting the best of her. "OK, OK, I'll bite. Why do you think that it might not be an accident? There couldn't have been much left to go by." She waved the photo of the crumpled truck in his face.

Branch stared at her. "There wasn't. But, I had it towed to Billings to see if their guys can't look it over." Since Montana's capital was closer to Absaroka County than their own, sometimes they would do work for them, especially in the winter when getting to Cheyenne was near impossible.

"Like the state of Montana doesn't have anything better to do than declare Mr. Stanley McCormick a horrible driver," Vic snorted.

Branch stared out the window at the people coming and going out of the downtown stores, cars driving sedately by at the only red light in town. "A witness that he had just flown around said she saw his brake lights come on before he hit the curve, but it didn't look like the truck slowed."

"If she's over 80, don't take her word for it."

"She was a 30-year old mother with her 8-year old in the car," Branch's eyes met her. "They saw the whole thing."

Vic swallowed hard. "Kids shouldn't have to see that shit."

"Neither should their mothers," Branch responded solemnly.

"Any enemies?"

Branch snorted. "He was an oil rigger with an attitude. I imagine he has more enemies than I've had girlfriends-"

"That's a _lot_ of enemies."

Branch grinned at her. "But, I'm working on it. Fill Walt in, will you? I've got to run to Dead Horse. Some complaint about loud music or something."

"Will do," Vic said, already wiping the scene from her memory. You had to if you wanted to survive this job. She learned as a rookie cop in Pittsburgh that taking that stuff with her would make her a sure fire candidate for the loony bin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, _that_ was easy," Branch said grimly, leaning back in the chair in front of Walt's desk. He tossed a sheet of paper onto the gleaming surface, the lined paper almost full of Stanley McCormick's known enemies. Branch never quite understood how the Sheriff stayed so busy, yet his desk was always so neat.

The sheriff studied it briefly. "He owed people money, hit his girlfriends and cheated on his taxes." He tossed the sheet aside. "Vic told me about what the witness said." Walt's eyes studied his deputy closely. "You really don't think it was an accident?"

The door behind them opened and closed quietly – Ruby oiled everything regularly because she couldn't stand the squeak – and Vic leaned on the window seal, propping her boot on it.

Branch returned his attention to the sheriff. "No, I don't. In fact, I _know_ it wasn't." He couldn't help but sound smug. He pulled another sheet out of the file and tossed it on Walt's desk. Walt studied the report.

'Brake failure due to rapid loss of brake fluid' jumped out at him.

"Someone cut his brake lines," Walt said more to himself than as a question. He sighed. "Have you started in on this list?" He tapped the list of enemies of one little-known Stanley McCormick. At least until now. The dead man – possibly murdered – had now become their number one priority.

Branch swallowed once and nodded. Clearing his throat and looking a little nervous, he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "I started with his buddies. And I say 'buddies' loosely because this man did not seem at all popular, even after he's gone."

"Typical," Vic muttered.

Branch continued. "They all keep telling the same story. McCormick had just won that truck in a poker game and was getting it tuned up. He had just picked it up that morning." Branch paused. "From Fred Ray's garage."

"Good thing I don't see Fred Ray's name on here," Walt said grimly, motioning towards the list on his desk.

When neither Branch nor Vic cracked a smile , he knew there was more to the story and settled into his chair to brace himself.

Branch cleared his throat nervously and pulled out another sheet of paper from his file. A driver's license. A pretty face he recognized stared back at him from the Illinois document. Although her hair was a different color, it was her alright.

Tara Ann Groslowski

"That's Henry's new waitress. But it's not Tara it's . . ."

"Annie. I know," Branch replied. "But Ms. Groslowski here also works for Fred Ray during the day as a mechanic."

"That's right," Walt muttered, studying the driver's license again. "But because she works for Henry and Fred doesn't make her our brake line cutter."

Branch's mouth was a thin line. Walt could tell he really didn't want to say what he had to say next.

"You remember that guy that attacked her at Henry's? Well . . . it was this Stanley creep." Vic interceded.

Branch nodded. "I still wanted to dismiss it because," he motioned towards the epic list of Stanley's enemies, "if he's slapped one girl around, he's slapped them all. . ."

Walt saw it coming, "But?"

Branch took a deep breath as Vic tapped one foot impatiently. He exhaled slowly. "According to Mr. Ray, McCormick also confronted Ms. Groslowski at his garage yesterday. While she was working on his truck."

"Is she OK?" Walt asked.

Branch couldn't help the ghost of a smile on his face. "She kneed our victim in the balls before Fred chased him off with a rubber mallet."

Vic snorted in response, and Walt even managed a smile.

They sat in silence as the mirth quickly wore off the situation. Walt studied her driver's license again.

"She has motive and opportunity," Branch pointed out impatiently.

"Maybe _you're_ just pissed because she made you change your own tire," Vic growled.

Branch waved her off impatiently. "The first incident with Stan may have been forgotten, but the second one may have made her angry enough to take revenge."

"Especially if she thought he may come back for more," Vic added in a serious tone.

"She probably thought the damage would be so great that no one could tell," Branch added eagerly, trying to show he covered all his bases.

Walt shook his head picking up the enemies list. "There's a lot of names on this list. And you and I both know Fred Ray doesn't lock up his cars at night. You told me all of his buddies knew that truck was at Ray's. Maybe who he won it from wasn't happy about it." Walt thought for a moment. "I'd talk to everyone at the poker game if I were you. Get a feel for whose truck it was. If there was any cheating."

Branch looked annoyed. "Sure, but," he leaned forward in his chair towards Walt's desk, "it appears you like her, but that doesn't mean she didn't do it. Hell, we don't even _know_ her!" he said, motioning towards the out-of-state driver's license.

Walt realized his deputy was right. "We may not. But I know someone who does."

"Ferg," Vic said, her features suddenly rigid. But not for long. "I'm not telling him about any of this!" she said, backing towards the door and escaping.

"Huh?" Branch said, scratching his head. "Ferg? Is he working on this case, too?"

Walt glanced at the door still swinging open as Vic ran for safety. He knew who was going to have to ask the part-time deputy about this girl, and from what he had being hearing around town about the two of them, he wasn't looking forward to it one bit.

Branch soldiered onward, confused but impatient to show his trump card. "We don't have to ask anyone." He held up a print card. "I lifted some of her prints from the jack in my car."

"Of course you did, you ass hole!" Vic called from her desk.

Walt shook his head. Of all the times for Branch to get creative . . . "Run 'em. But check out the game, too."

_And I'll have to talk to Ferg_.

With a groan, Walt rose, his knees killing him. He envied the way Branch seemingly effortlessly got to his own feet and took off for the scanner. He remembered being that young once. And he didn't appreciate it a bit.

Vic gave him the side-eye as he walked by her desk. But, he ignored her and headed to Ruby.

"Where's Ferg?"

Ruby glanced up at her computer screen at him over her glasses. "Last time he checked in, he said he was out near the Rez."

"Call him. Tell him I need to talk to him."

"Sure." She paused a moment and took off her glasses.

Walt knew that was his cue to stand there and keep his mouth shut.

"Do you really think she did it?" Ruby asked.

Walt's gaze drifted towards his two in-house deputies. Branch was too busy trying to prove his point to pay their conversation any attention, but Vic glared at him purposefully.

"I hope not."

"For Ferg's sake."

Walt smiled down at her. "It was my impression that both of them are denying any relationship."

Ruby rolled her eyes and returned to her paperwork. "Just make sure you go easy on him."


	13. Innocent Until Proven Guilty

Ferg stared at the file Branch had gathered on Annie.

It was thicker than any normal person's should be.

Phrases jumped out at him that made his skin crawl. Photos. Accusations. Charges.

It was like a bad dream. It couldn't possibly be real.

Could it?

He could feel the sheriff's eyes on him, and even Branch watched him from his perch on the edge of the sheriff's desk, gauging his reaction.

Vic, thank God, had made herself scarce.

Ferg's first reaction was to toss the file aside and say it was all lies. All of it! His Annie would never be accused of such things – and that's all it was, accusations! - or had such awful things done to her!

But, Branch wouldn't make this up. Besides, the city of Chicago and FBI letterhead screamed that this was official.

This was _real_. This had happened to her. His Annie.

Somewhere along the line, she became _his_ Annie. He couldn't pinpoint it exactly. It could have been as early as when they stood in that little dingy bathroom at Henry's as she gently bandaged his wounds, but it was now obvious she was more to him than just a friend.

And this file tilted his world on end and made him wonder just what in the hell was going on.

Always patient, Walt let him finish the file and get his bearings just as Branch shifted uncomfortably waiting on a response.

"Did she tell you?" Walt's voice was kind.

Ferg took a deep breath and softly shut the file, feeling strangely empty inside. "No. She didn't."

"Who would? That reads like a bad dream," Branch agreed.

Ferg didn't feel like thanking him for his agreement. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

This was definitely that last thing he expected to be called to the sheriff's office to deal with today.

His mind couldn't quite grasp it.

Annie. _His_ Annie.

The sheriff was talking, but Ferg wasn't quite able to listen.

She didn't do it. How _could_ she do it? Sure, that oil rigger attacked her again – his hands clenched at just the thought of it, curling the file in his hands.

Would she even have told him?

No. She would have taken care of it herself. Because that's what she has always done.

But that didn't make her a murderer.

Did it?

" . . .I'll go out to The Red Pony and talk to her -"

Ferg's head jerked up, and Walt paused, thinking he had something to say.

But what could he say? The evidence pointed to the fact that she may have done it. Motive and opportunity, Branch kept saying. She had to questioned. There was nothing he could do about that.

Maybe she could explain herself. Tell them that everything in this file was a lie. She was trapped. Coerced. Had to do it to survive. So many women did.

Why did she even owe them an explanation for what was in the file, anyway?

Well, at least she could tell them that she didn't touch the brake lines on McCormick's truck. It had to be someone else. Walt showed him a list of known enemies that almost filled the standard-sized sheet of paper.

It _had_ to be someone else.

She _couldn't_ have done it. Not his Annie who felt sorry for him when he talked about his dying father and held his hand. Who worked two jobs to make ends meet in a little RV on the outside of town, but wouldn't take his money because she knew he was just as strapped as was. Or was fascinated by the craters in the moon and scared of bears sneaking up on her in the woods . . .

No. He didn't believe it. He _couldn't_ believe it . . . no matter how scared she was, she would _never_ compromise a vehicle like that. The truck could have careened out of control and hit a bus or a car full of kids or anybody! She _knew_ that!

He didn't care if the file in his hands suggested she may be _capable_ of it.

Branch and Walt were talking between themselves, Walt getting ready to go to Henry's to question her.

God, he was glad it wasn't Branch! At least Walt would go easy on her.

Unless she _did_ do it. Then, the sheriff would officially arrest her, bring her back here in handcuffs and someone would have to book her . . .that was usually his job . . .

Just the thought of it made him want to be sick.

_Annie. His Annie . . ._

"I want to be there." The words popped out of his mouth before he realized that's what he wanted. More than anything.

Both Branch and the sheriff looked at him.

The sheriff nodded solemnly. "If that's what you want."

No, it wasn't what he wanted. He _wanted_ to race out to Henry's, beat the sheriff there and give her a chance to explain to someone who wasn't gunning for her. Like Branch.

He glared at Branch as the other man walked by him out the door, but Branch wouldn't meet his eyes.

He wanted to protect her. Not because he thought she did it. She _didn't_ do it.

But because he didn't want her to suffer the shame of having to go through the same thing here that she did in Chicago.

It all made sense. Her wariness of him. Why she kept to herself. Why she didn't talk about her past.

But he was helpless to do a thing.

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News travels fast, even in such a large, sparsely populated county as this one, and when Annie heard about the tricked-out truck plunging to the bottom of the ravine in Dead Man's Curve, she couldn't help but feel satisfaction. The man got what he deserved, and he wouldn't bother her again. His bad driving combined with a vehicle too powerful for him finally did him in.

It didn't cross her mind that someone might think she had anything to do with it. But, if they were any good, of course, they'd have to question her. Cover their bases. She did have her hands on his truck just recently, after all.

Just standard operating procedure. SOP.

She tried to make sure Sheriff Longmire couldn't see her hands shaking as she rubbed them nervously on her legs.

She did nothing wrong. She had nothing to be afraid of.

Worst of all, she knew Ferg was behind her leaned against the door jamb.

He wouldn't even look her in the eye.

That surprised her. And frightened her.

And made her think . . .

If this was just a standard questioning, why was he so distant?

"Yes, he . . . uh . . . threatened me. Told me he still owed me for what happened here." She could hear Ferg shift behind her, but Walt's eyes never left hers. She swallowed hard and continued. "I . . . well . . . I told him he still owed me for the damages he did to the place." She paused.

The sheriff motioned for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. "He told me he . . . uh . . . still had a . . . uh . . . uh . . . made a derogatory comment about . . .me." For some reason, she just couldn't use the exact words Stan used. It embarrassed her too much.

More movement from Ferg. This time, the sheriff's eyes moved away from hers momentarily.

In a way, she wished she could gauge Ferg's reaction herself. Because he could not possibly think she had anything to do with this . . could he?

Walt motioned for her to continue. She took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. "Then he . . . insulted . . .a friend." No need to bring up what he said. "So I kneed him in the groin."

Henry was sitting in the chair at his desk, and her eyes flicked to his. He had insisted on being there, and she was surprised Sheriff Longmire let him. But, she needed a friendly face in the room. Someone who at least thought she was innocent.

She would have rather it have been Ferg. But he may think she actually did this. That made tears spring to her eyes, and she hated herself for it.

There was a hint of a smile on Henry's face, and he nodded for her to continue.

Annie looked away, taking strength in Henry's faith in her.

"What happened after that?" Walt asked patiently.

"Well, he wallowed on the ground for a bit. Then, he came to long enough to grab me on the arm." She pulled up her sleeve to show the bruising around her biceps.

A sharp intake of breath from behind her.

"That son of a _bitch_ . . ." she heard Ferg whisper.

But if he thought she was guilty, why would he care?

A pang in her chest brought her back to her senses, so she quickly finished. "Fred arrived about that time and threatened him with a big hammer. Then, he spit at me and left." Annie shrugged. "That's the last time I saw him." _And thank God I won't ever deal with him again_.

"Did you finish his truck?" Walt asked.

"It was just a simple tune up – checking the spark plugs, hoses, wires, battery – so, I finished it, drove it behind the building where we keep all the finished cars and trucks and started on the next one."

"When did he pick it up?"

"I guess the next morning. I didn't come in that day, but Fred had some sort of arrangement for a Sunday pickup, since he's normally not open that day." She imagined Sheriff Longmire already knew all this, anyway. But, her story must have coincided with Mr. Ray's because he shifted gears.

The sheriff's next question surprised her. "Do you think anyone could have tampered with his vehicle?"

The story started to come together for her, and she paled. "_Was_ his truck tampered with?"

Walt didn't answer, just watched and waited.

She knew what he was looking for. Innocence or guilt.

Someone messed with this guy's truck . . .

And it sure as hell looked like she did it!

"His brake lines were cut."

Ferg's voice behind her.

Walt glared at him, obviously disapproving of his deputy spilling the beans to their star suspect.

Jesus. No wonder he wouldn't look her in the eyes.

They thought she cut his brake lines.

They thought she _killed_ him.

Stunned, she could only sit there like a lump.

Quietly, Walt re-asked his question. "Do you think his truck could have been tampered with after hours?"

She swallowed hard, trying her best to control her fear. "I-uh-I don't see why not. Fred doesn't lock them up, and I guess it sat there all night. Maybe into the day on Sunday, too."

Walt watched her closely, and she braced herself for what she knew was coming.

"Did you cut his brake lines?"

The answer tumbled out. "_God_, no! Sure, he scared me, but it wouldn't be the first time a man has threatened me like that! I would _never_ do that to someone's vehicle. _Ever_!"

Walt remained quiet and she stared at him, then at Henry, hoping someone believed her. Both of the men stared right back, expressions unreadable.

She could feel Ferg's eyes burning a hole in her back, but she sure didn't know what else to say to convince them she didn't do it.

What the hell happened to innocent until proven guilty?

With a sigh, Walt reluctantly picked up a file sitting next to him. He handed it to her, and she reached out a shaky hand to take it. "Wh-what's this?" she hated the catch in her voice, but damned if she found herself in the last place she'd thought she'd ever be again – on the wrong side of a police interrogation.

"Does the name Junior Santos ring a bell?"

She almost dropped it. But, it didn't matter because she knew what was in it.

All of it.

_Now_, she understood Ferg's distance.

He knew. All of it.

She sat very still, seeing what little freedom she thought she had flying right out the door.

They had looked her up. And found every detail. Every sordid thing.

She'd done this before. She knew how this worked.

"I want a lawyer."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ferg outwardly cringed when she said those words. The rule of thumb is anyone who was innocent would usually talk freely to the police. If they had something to hide, they usually did it behind a suit.

Not only did those words mean she may have actually committed this crime, but it made him realize that every single thing in that file was probably true, too.

And she hadn't told him any of it. Probably never would have if he hadn't found it out this way.

Through his own confusion, he realized Sheriff Longmire was still talking. "-every right to have an attorney. But, right now, we're just asking questions. You aren't the only one we're talking to. This man had more enemies than normal, and we're covering all the bases." His voice was kind, yet firm. Ferg had heard different versions of the same speech over and over again to people who found themselves on the wrong side of the law. Sometimes they were innocent and sometimes they were guilty, even when they asked for an attorney.

Ferg clung to the fact that it was the former in this case. And he was glad he couldn't see her face. He wasn't sure he could handle it. Hearing the frightened tone in her voice was plenty rough enough.

Walt had retrieved the file from her. "We're not judging you for what's in here. This is something in the past that is over and done as far as I'm concerned. But, given the fact you worked in the very garage that had just worked on the victim's truck, you were threatened by the victim and you may have had prior charges for tampering with someone's . . . mode of transportation," he waved the file in his hand. Boy, Ferg hated that thing, "by all means we have to ask you."

Annie was shaking her head before Walt even finished talking. "The closest I got to his brakes were checking his brake pads. And I did that before he even arrived." Her voice sounded desperate, but her words were soft, so soft that Ferg had to lean forward to hear her.

He was just glad she was talking again, had forgotten about her request for an attorney.

Walt gave her a small smile. "As it stands, I believe you. But, until this investigation is complete, I want you to stick around. Don't make any trips. Understand?"

Annie gripped the arms on the chair as if her life depended on it. Ferg couldn't stand to see her like that, but didn't dare move towards her, just kept watch from behind her, his own arms crossed over his chest over his pounding heart. He knew he should say something, but found he had no idea what to say.

She nodded once.

"Good." Walt stood and picked up the file, and Ferg knew the interview was over. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until now. "If you'll excuse us, we'll let you get back to work."

Annie didn't move as Walt sauntered towards the door. Ferg's heart told him to stay, to talk to her himself, to hear what she had to say. Kneel down in front of her, take her hands and let her just tell him. But not accustomed to following his heart, his mind told him to follow the sheriff out the door.

So that's what he did.

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She could feel Henry's eyes on her, but she didn't care.

She knew she should stand up, paint a smile on her face and go wait on her tables. Dena was probably having a time keeping up with the wants of every single patron.

But she wasn't sure if her knees could support her.

She ran from Chicago because of those accusations. Tried to start over. To hide from people who wouldn't stop looking for her.

At least this guy didn't have any friends to go after her.

Didn't mean the law wouldn't be.

It was Chicago all over again.

Funny how she was destined to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She must have been born under the wrong sign.

"Did you do it?"

She glared at her employer. "You were here. You heard what I said." She could feel tears threaten, but she didn't dare let them fall. Useless thing, those tears.

Henry was undeterred by her glare. "I meant in Chicago."

Her stare never wavered. "I don't owe you an explanation, you know."

"You do not. I am asking as a friend only."

Friend.

She thought Ferg was her friend. Maybe could have been more than that. She was starting to let her guard down, her first mistake.

She could feel the tears well, so she stuffed those thoughts back down under lock and key.

"No. I did not."

Henry studied her a moment more, and it was almost as if his dark eyes were searching right down into her soul to see if she had told the truth.

He must have been satisfied with what he saw.

Suddenly tired, Annie started to rise from her chair when Henry spoke again.

"Were you going to tell him?"

Annie had no doubt as to what he was talking about.

"No. I have no desire to hurt him like that."

Henry's dark eyes bored into her own. "It is a little late for that."

She flinched.

Yes. It was.


	14. Owed Him That Much

_Author's Note: Remember . . . I own nothing . . . you can thank Mr. Craig Johnson for most of this. And I guess A&E for the rest!_

Annie was bone tired, the kind of exhaustion that makes you feel like you could sleep for a month, and it still wasn't going to help. Somehow, someway, she finished up her evening shift, fetching drinks and ketchup and extra napkins. She must have faked it well enough because her tips ran about normal.

Emotionally, she had been run through the ringer. Yes, it was possible to be frightened – her future was obviously now in jeopardy, and there was not a damn thing she could do about it – but she was also angry at having this happen to her again.

_Maybe I should join a commune_.

She welcomed the anger and frustration. Thrived on it even. Because it helped mask the one emotion she was trying her best to keep at bay.

Sadness.

Sure, she couldn't look Ferg in the eye as she answered all of the sheriff's questions. He never gave her a chance to. He obviously thought she was guilty. How could he not?

The one person she had started to trust, to depend on, and he judges her before even talking to her.

She was glad he _didn't_ speak to her. She couldn't handle seeing the realization in his eyes that he knew what she had done with her life. Always priding herself on not caring what people thought of her, it surprised her to realize she cared what _he_ thought. Maybe a little _too_ much.

Now, it didn't matter. None of it did.

Even if and when they found who really did this, it would always hang over her head. People would talk, whisper to themselves about what they had heard she had been accused of doing back in Chicago. And even what she had to do to stay alive. She had already figured out how small towns worked. Nothing was sacred.

Moving on would probably be her best bet. But, she used all of what little savings she had to get out here. And wouldn't her past just keep following her?

And who's to say she would even be able to move? If the sheriff couldn't prove otherwise, she may rot in prison for a murder she didn't commit.

Annie thought she was going to be sick.

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Ferg was numb. Sure, he finished out the day, answering domestic disputes and running traffic stops, but he felt as if he were running through a thick fog. He would have welcomed anything other than the helplessness he felt whenever he thought about what was happening to Annie.

The sheriff wouldn't let him investigate. He said it was too personal for him and to let Vic and Branch handle it.

That was probably wise, although it pissed him off at the time.

At least Vic wasn't gunning for her like Branch was. Maybe she'd at least get a fair chance. And Vic was damn good at what she did.

Thinking about her predicament helped him not to ponder on what else had been bothering him.

Her past.

She hadn't told him any of it.

She probably never would have.

He didn't know what to think about it, but he sure understood now why she was so evasive to his questions. And her suspicion about him from the beginning.

Honestly, he was surprised she went fishing with him at all after what he read in that file.

He couldn't help but think about her that day, the way she bit her bottom lip in concentration. The way she turned her face towards the sun and watched the sky change colors as if it was the prettiest thing she'd ever seen. The way the thought of panthers and wolves sneaking up on her frightened her, made her scoot just a little closer to the fire. He couldn't help but smile as he drove home that evening. The woman had faced down some of the worst things society had to offer, and she was scared of an animal that was more terrified of her than she was of it.

Fleetingly, he thought of going back to Henry's and talking to her. But confrontation was never his strong point. Plus, since he was a member of the sheriff's department investigating her innocence – or guilt in Branch's case – he was probably the last person she wanted to see.

But, as he stared at the can opener and can of soup he dug out of the pantry, he felt lonelier than he ever had before.

And a little angry to be honest.

He had opened himself up to her, and damned if she didn't do the same! And he had to find out all of those terrible things in a file from Branch, of all people!

It was silly, but he felt he was owed an explanation. He wanted to hear what she had to say. She owed him that much.

Didn't she?

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Annie was so exhausted by the time she drove home that she hoped she could make it without falling asleep and running into a ditch.

However, it might do the county _and_ the world of favor if she did.

Trying to squelch such morbid thoughts, she griped the steering wheel tightly with both hands and looked out for errant deer who liked to run out in the road in front of cars.

The rodeo bunch was out tonight at an event, so except for a few travelers and full-timers, the RV park was quiet. A few lights were burning dimly where someone couldn't sleep, and she figured her headlights hitting their windows would have them peeking out.

She wondered if the RV park owners had heard by now. A sweet older couple who liked to talk about their grandkids. Surely, they wouldn't kick her out.

That's the last thing she needed. Living in a tin can with no place to park it.

She rounded the curve towards her little home and sucked in a breath.

Her headlights shone across the blue Trans Am. The sight of that car surprised her more than she thought it would. Along with her initial reaction.

Someone cared.

Tears she had no right to shed sprung to her eyes as she sat there for a moment, engine idling, wondering what she should do.

She shoved that emotion aside. That's probably not why he was here. How could he care after what he now knew? He had to be angry. Disappointed. Maybe he wanted to know if she really did cut those brake lines after all.

Maybe he was here to arrest her.

That thought made her breath catch in her throat.

Surely not. Walt had more tact than that.

He'd do it himself.

Taking deep breaths to gather herself, she slowly pulled in beside the car and put it into park, killing the engine, giving her eyes time to adjust to the darkness.

He was sitting at the picnic table, watching her. The same picnic table they had laughed and ate at just a few weeks before. . .

She couldn't think about that. The hurt sliced through her heart, making it ache in ways she didn't know it could.

Because of the darkness, she couldn't gauge his mood. Which may be good. Especially if he was angry.

She didn't think she could handle his anger. Or disappointment.

She wasn't sure which one was going to be worse to deal with.

But she was going to have to face it eventually.

Slowly, she opened the door of the truck and climbed out.

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_Author's Note: Next up: the whole sordid story! Because after 14 damn chapters, YOU EARNED IT_


	15. The Stupidity of Youth

_Dear A&E . . . YOU SUCK! . . . XOXO, tonygirl :-/_

It was hard to believe it was just a couple weeks before that they were laughing and eating at this very table.

Ferg thought about the $40 they had been slipping back and forth to each other. It had almost become a game now. In fact, he had it folded up in his shirt pocket. He carried it with him a lot now, although he didn't quite know why. Probably just in anticipation of seeing her again.

He looked up as headlights slowly roped their way through the parked trailers of every shape and size.

He knew it was her by the way the headlights paused when they hit his car.

She may turn around. She may run. Far away from this place. From him.

He wouldn't blame her. He also wouldn't go after her if she did.

He didn't realize he was holding his breath until the truck slowly pulled in beside his car. Slowly, he exhaled, wondering why this was so hard.

He knew this woman – or at least he thought he did.

The confrontation thing again. It wasn't any easier when he could hide behind his badge, so he had even changed into street clothes. He figured a badge was the last thing she wanted to see at this point in time.

He stood as she stiffly walked towards him, surprised when his first reaction was to wrap his arms around her, tell her it would all be OK.

Although that may be a lie.

But, he didn't dare. In the dim light shining on her from her porch light he could just make out the defiance on her face. The wariness.

He thought they were past that, and it pained him to see it.

So, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets instead.

"What do you want?"

Her voice shook just a little despite her stern tone. She must have realized it, too, because she wrapped her arms around herself, almost as if she were protecting herself from whatever it was he came for and held her chin up, full of defiance.

That hurt him just as much, if not more, than her attitude.

She really thought she needed to be protected. From him

Truth be known, he needed protection from her. Or his heart did, at least.

Ferg didn't know what else to do besides answer her question. "I want to hear it from you."

"If I'm not mistaken, I told the sheriff I didn't do it. And you were _there_!" Her voice broke at the end.

And didn't speak or even look at her.

He knew it was wrong, but he wasn't sure what to say. So, he did nothing. A big mistake.

Heart pounding in his chest, he replied, "Not what happened _here_. What was in the file."

She sucked in a breath and looked away from him, backing up almost as if she couldn't get away fast enough. "You read it. You get the idea."

He was shaking his head before she was even done. "I want _you_ to tell me-" She was turning away from him towards the door of the little trailer, and he put his hand on her arm to stop her.

She yanked her arm away and backed up against the cold metal, suddenly terrified. "Don't touch me! _Don't touch me_!" A dog parked inside a trailer parked a couple spaces away as she shied away from him like a skittish horse, the terror plain on her face.

Her reaction surprised him until her remembered the bruise on her arm from the dead oil rigger.

He'd wanted to kill the man all over again when he saw the marks, but he had to squelch that emotion. Along with everything else he felt for her.

He held his hands up and backed away, giving her space. "I'm not going to hurt you. You _know_ that. You _have_ to know that. . ." He quietly pled with her, stunned, his heart hurting at her reaction.

Her terror was replaced by weariness. "I _know_, I _know_. I'm _sorry_. It's just that . . . " She trailed off and wrapped her arms around herself again in that same protective stance she had taken earlier.

If any jury could see her now, that wouldn't charge her with a thing. She looked so helpless, so scared, and Ferg found himself wanting to reach out for her again.

He wasn't sure she would let him, so again, he kept his hands to himself.

"I'd kill him again if he wasn't already dead," he found himself saying.

She looked at him strangely. "No. You wouldn't."

"Why do you say that?" He was offended at her words. "Because I'm not man enough? Because I don't have the balls for it? _Why_?"

"Because that's not who you are," she said simply.

And he knew she was right.

She walked to the picnic table and hefted herself onto the table, her feet on the seat. He thought about sitting next to her, but settled on the metal steps of her trailer instead. He wanted to be able to see her.

She studied her hands for a moment, finally looking at him, her expression unreadable in the darkness. "Do you _think_ I did it?"

He took a deep breath. "If you're talking about the truck, no. I don't. Although I wouldn't blame you if you had."

"Yes, you would. It's your job." Her smile was fleeting, but sad. "Why did you come today? With Sheriff Longmire?"

That was a harder question to answer. He looked at his own hands idly. "They had given me the file. Wanted to know if you had told me any of this." He looked at her. "You never would have told me, would you?"

She wouldn't look at him. "Can you blame me? There's some bad shit in that file that I would rather forget."

"Branch said the same thing."

She made a face. "Unusual for him to be so perceptive. Unless he has his own skeletons to hide."

Ferg knew she nailed that one.

He continued to answer her question. "I thought maybe . . . maybe none of it was true. Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity. Maybe you could make them see that when they showed you the file. But I knew I was wrong when I saw your reaction when the sheriff mentioned that guy's name."

"Junior Santos," she whispered.

Ferg had even googled it and been so disgusted by what he found that he quickly exited the search engine.

They lapsed into silence. She was lost in her own thoughts, staring at her hands between her knees. All he could do was watch and wait. He wondered if she'd even speak until she began her story.

"I guess it all started when I realized my dad had gone rogue." She shrugged and started rubbing her hands absently on her jeans. "I don't know how long he was doing business with the bad guys instead of arresting them, but I guess it had been a couple years. Money stopped being an issue because he was taking bribes, and he stayed gone. All the time. I don't know if it was his constant absence or my mother not agreeing with his side jobs that ended their marriage, but it was one or the other."

Ferg didn't dare interrupt her. He knew if he spoke, she may not continue, so he let her go at her own pace.

She took a deep breath. "I was young. Taking classes at a community college, but not real serious about it. Of course, I had all the spending money I wanted thanks to my dad," her tone was bitter. "My friends and I decided to go to a local strip club. It was easy to get in. We all had fake IDs. And lucky us, it was amateur night."

She paused for a moment, shaking her head. "The stupidity of youth. We all took a turn on the pole. We'd been drinking, and the shouts and tips from the men just made it all that much more exciting. To be wanted. A power we thought was the be-all and end-all of our existence."

She sighed again, lost in her past. "After my turn, I had garnered the attention of the owner. Lucky me." Her tone was bitter again.

Ferg remained silent.

_This_ is what wasn't in the file. And he wanted to know. No matter how much it hurt.

"He was a smooth talker, that Junior," she shook her head as she remembered. "The other girls always joked that he could talk the chastity belt off a virgin." Her chuckle held no mirth. "I thought I was the next greatest thing – he had me convinced of it! So, I started working there at nights. Dancing. I realized I had power I surely wasn't using. I was making my own money, and could thumb my nose at my dad. Not that he was there to notice or anything. In fact, by the time he did realize the path I had chosen, I was neck-deep in trouble. He tried to haul me out of there, but Junior's thugs just laughed in his face. Called him a has-been, washed-up cop. That probably hurt more than their fists, if you want to know the truth. By then, I was dating Junior – if you could call it dating."

"The glamour of it all," Ferg said, his voice hoarse. He wanted her to know he was trying to understand.

She looked at him, almost as if she forgot he was there. "I was the top of the food chain. I was sleeping with the owner, had all the money and power my body could give me, and I'll be honest with you. I liked it. Loved it."

"What about your mother?"

Her chuckle held no warmth. "My mother. God bless her. While I was parading around naked in front of the worst Chicago had to offer and her husband was taking bribes left and right – and frequenting places like where I worked on a regular basis – she threw herself into my brother. The star of the family," she said with no trace of bitterness. "Not that I blame her. He was the only one that showed any hope at this point. I didn't even come home any more, got tired of her nagging. It wasn't until later that I realized she was drinking heavily. Her liver looks like Swiss cheese, and she doesn't have much longer. Somehow, I feel like I'm partially to blame, but I try not to think about it too much."

Ferg was pretty sure she wasn't looking for affirmation, so he stayed quiet. Plus, the dread of what he knew was coming was making it pretty difficult for him to form any words at all. He had seen the photos. The bruises. The stitches.

It made him nauseous just thinking about it.

By now, her voice had gotten so soft, he had to lean forward to hear her. Her hair had fallen in her face as she looked down at her filthy boots. It struck him how vulnerable she looked, something he realized she rarely ever seemed to be.

"I think when they threw my father out – a big, strong man in his own right – that was the first clue I wanted out. That kind of lifestyle is fun until you start second-guessing yourself, then none of it makes in sense. I'd beg off the parties, instead going home alone to Junior's great big apartment. It was a beautiful place, but heartless. Bought with nothing but the sad remains of other peoples' dreams." She pushed the hair out of her face, but still wouldn't look at him. "Once, I even went home, but I couldn't bring myself to go inside. So, I just walked around the city all night. That was the first time Junior accused me of cheating."

She stopped for a minute. "Cheating. Huh. I knew he was sleeping with every girl in the place, but that was OK for _him_. But not for me." She shook herself out of her revelry. "He hit me for the first time that night."

Ferg's heart lurched in his chest. He'd kill this Junior, too, if he could. No matter what Annie said.

Annie hadn't realized his inner turmoil and continued with her story. "Left a bruise that even make-up couldn't cover. I didn't work for a week, just laid around the apartment feeling sorry for myself. Junior didn't even come home. I didn't want to know where he was. Didn't care at that point. By then, I didn't have any way out. So, I healed up and went back to work. But, I hated it. _Hated it_!" Her voice carried in the cool darkness, so she lowered it immediately. "Junior had started smacking me around pretty good then. Nothing that would leave a mark, though, after the first time. I was just property to him. Like cattle. And if I couldn't work, I couldn't make any money. I would stay with one of the girls at night to get away from him, but he'd have one of his hired thugs haul me out of there and back to his place. Where he'd smack me around some more. Pretty soon, none of the girls wanted me around. They didn't want to be the one that kept Junior away from his punching bag."

"Why? Why didn't he just let you go?" Ferg hated the way his voice shook, hated the tears in his eyes he knew she saw.

She looked at him and smiled softly. The first genuine smile he'd seen since she'd arrived. It calmed him. A little. "You don't understand because you're not like them. But, it's the way he showed his power, his dominance. I was nothing but a pawn in his little self-serving game. It made him feel righteous, powerful to kick me around. And I was stupid enough to let him do it over and over again."

"I've seen it before. You weren't stupid," Ferg said fervently. In fact, domestic violence was their number one criminal activity on any given day. He didn't have to understand it, though, what made the twisted minds operate.

"Maybe not. But I was scared. In fact, the night I stayed until after everyone had left, so I could tell him it was really over, I threw up twice between dances, it scared me so bad."

Her eyes got that haunted look, and it took every fiber of his being not to get up and move next to her.

"He was conducting 'business,' she made quotation marks with her fingers. "But from the crack in the door, I watched him gun down two men. I didn't know who they were or what they had done to him. Then he looked me right in the eye through the crack in that door. He knew I was there all along. It . . . scared me so much, I ran. I wanted to hide, but I knew there was nowhere for me to hide that Junior couldn't find me. He'd always tell me that after he'd beat me. That he'd always find me. _Always_." She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her forearms.

Ferg couldn't take it any longer. He stood up and pulled off his jacket, putting it over her shoulders. She wouldn't look at him, but she gratefully pulled the jacket closer. Instead of returning to his perch on the steps, he carefully sat on the bench at her feet. He wanted to sit next to her on the tabletop, to wrap his arm around her and pull her close, but found he wanted to see her face as she finished her story.

She may not let him touch her, anyway.

She wiped the tears from her face with the sleeve of his coat. "He found me. Of course. I had rented a little room at a flop house, but he found me. Probably owned the place, anyway. Before he beat me that night, he told me if I ever told about those murders, he would kill me and my mom and my brother. My mom first, so I could watch. He even said he knew a lot of very rich men who would love a chance at my little brother."

"Jesus . . ." Ferg whispered in horror.

"He meant it, too. That beating almost killed me. Somehow, I wound up at my mother's doorstep. I think one of the girls felt sorry for me and put me in a cab, I dunno. Anyway, my mom rushed me to the ER. They had to do surgery to remove my spleen. I had my jaws wired shut for weeks. I had to have reconstructive surgery where he pretty much bashed my face in."

Ferg shut his eyes at the picture she painted, flinching.

He never would have guessed in a million years that was how she got that scar on her eyebrow that fascinated him so.

"I had a lot of time to think while I was laid up in that hospital bed. I knew Junior wasn't lying when he said he'd do those things to my family and me if I talked. At that point, I didn't care what he did to me, but I had to protect everyone else. We may not have been close at this time, but they were still my family. I realized the only way out was for me to kill him." She looked down at him intently as she spoke, and he didn't dare look away.

_Oh my God . . . she did it . . .she really did it . . ._

"But I didn't put sugar in that jet plane engine. Although whichever one of his enemies that did it was _very_ clever. In fact, I wished I thought of it myself."

Ferg took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. _She didn't do it . . . she didn't do it . . ._ "How did you get . . . accused of it?"

She shook her head, a small ironic smile on her face. "You may not believe it, but I seem to have this uncanny ability to find myself in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He didn't find that amusing in the least. True, but not funny at all.

She continued. "My car was caught on camera at this little bitty airport way out of town that Junior always used coming and going about the same time someone put sugar in the tank of the plane. I may not have done that, but I was there to kill Junior. I had a gun. I was ready to put one between his eyes. But, he didn't show up. All his most-trusted men got on that plane, but he was delayed for some reason or other. I never knew why. So, even the sugar in the fuel didn't kill him. Lucky bastard."

Ferg could disagree with her there.

"But, it did pretty much ruin his entire outfit. His most trusted men were scattered across Iowa in itty bitty pieces, and the whole operation imploded on itself. I was arrested on suspicion of murder, but the DA never could make it stick, mainly because I swore I was there to kill Junior only, but with a .22, not with baked goods. They told me I could still get manslaughter because no one could prove I didn't mess with that plane, so I told them I would tell them whatever they wanted to know about Junior and his operation if they'd just forget about it. And they agreed. Junior went to prison for a very long time. And here I am."

Ferg sat for a moment, trying to digest it all. "Didn't they offer you witness protection or . . . or . . . _something_?"

She patted him on the arm. "Only you would still be worried about me after I told you I pretty much prostituted myself out for drugs, partying and money. A victim of my own piss-poor decisions."

He couldn't voice all the emotions boiling in the pit of his stomach, so he said nothing.

"Yes, they offered it to me. But at that point, his operation was a shambles. The men who would care about coming after me were gone. The rest were just scrambling to pick up a piece of what was left. No one cared about me at this point. So, I dyed my hair brown, changed my name a little and moved far away. Just in case. My mother has cirrhosis and moved in with her sister where she has a comfortable living with my dad's social security and life insurance. My brother used his portion of our father's life insurance money to go to Dartmouth."

"And you bought an RV," Ferg said softly.

She shook her head. "I bought this with savings. I gave my portion of my dad's insurance to my brother. At this point, money had caused me nothing but heartache. Plus, my brother didn't have quite enough to pay for all his tuition." She paused. "I think my dad would have liked it. One of us turning out halfway decent, at least."

"Don't say that!" he blurted out.

Her smile was sad. "Don't paint me out to be a martyr, Ferg. I made mistakes. Some really bad ones. And I just wanted to get as far away from them as I possibly could. In fact, I was on my way to Oregon when my transmission gave out just outside of town. So, here I am. Home sweet home," she motioned around the simple campsite.

That wasn't the end of the story, as far as Ferg was concerned.

"What about your dad? Did Junior have him killed?"

"Nope. My dad's own business dealings fell back on him. He was on patrol that night, but someone that felt they had been stiffed put a gun to his head and shot him while he was sitting at a red light. That was right before I saw Junior kill those two men. So, he missed that fine chapter of my life."

They both sat in silence. Ferg could hear a wolf howling in the distance, not unusual this time of night. It sounded lonely.

He knew how it felt.

"It's funny, you know," Annie said, startling him out of his revelry. "I start all over. Earn an honest living. Try to keep to myself and mind my own business. And I still get into some kind of trouble. I think my mother's right. I just attract it like flies."

"You're not going down for this," Ferg said vehemently. "I swear to you, if I have to talk to every person on that list of enemies, I'll find out who did it!" He didn't tell her that the sheriff wouldn't let him work on the case, mainly because he'd have to tell her why. He was too emotionally involved. "And then, everything can back to normal."

With a weary sigh, she climbed down from her perch on the table. She looked so small and helpless wrapped in his coat that his heart ached for her. "No, Ferg. It won't. It _can't_. Everyone _knows_ now. I'll always be the girl who was accused of cutting the brake lines at Fred Ray's. Hell, it wouldn't surprise me if he didn't want me to work there anymore! In that case, I'll probably just hook up to my trailer and move on."

That hurt him more than anything she had said so far. He reached out, and he was surprised when she took his hand. "You can't let them win, Annie. Even when they find the person who did this, running just makes it seem like they win anyway!"

She sniffled and squeezed his hand. "That's a sweet sentiment, it really is. But, life doesn't work out that way."

"It will this time," he said stubbornly. "In fact, I want to take you to Dorothy's tomorrow for lunch. You said you hadn't eaten there yet-"

Annie let go of his hand and jumped back like she had been scalded, cutting him off. "Didn't you hear a word I said? _No_! I _can't_!"

Ferg scrambled to his feet. "I'm _not_ ashamed of you . . ."

"You _should_ be!" Some of her original defiance returned. Ferg had to admit it was better than seeing her feel sorry for herself.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Annie! _Everyone_! You've paid for yours ten times over! You shouldn't have to hide the rest of your life because you feel like you're not good enough or hadn't suffered enough or . . . or _whatever_!"

She stepped closer to him, her voice just loud enough for him to hear. Probably a good idea since a light had clicked on at the trailer just across from her. "Ferg. Listen to me. I know you think I'm not going to jail for this-" He opened his mouth to protest, but shut it obediently when she held up her hand for silence. "And I may not. But, _I'm_ not what you need." She pointed at herself, her smile sad, all rancor vanished. "I could go all noble on you and say I don't deserve you, and you deserve better. But the simple truth is I can't handle a . . .a relationship. Not now. Maybe not ever. I mean, look what I've done to you already! I've opened myself up to you these past few weeks, and all I did was hurt you by not telling you the entire truth."

"You didn't hurt me," he said stubbornly. He knew he was lying.

And so did she. "You're a terrible liar, you know," she said, that same sad smile on her face. She motioned towards his car. "Go on. Get out of here. Forget about all of this. I'll either go to prison for this oil rigger thing or I won't. Either way, you don't need me in your life causing you more problems than I'm worth."

"But . . ." All he could do was watch helplessly as she turned around, unlocked the door to her trailer, climbed inside and shut it without looking at him.

He ran a hand through his hair, desperate to find a way to get to her. To make her understand.

But, she didn't want that. Or him, apparently.

So, he would do what she asked of him. Because that's all he knew to do.

But, he didn't have to like it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Annie sat on the edge of her bed and waited, muscles tense.

Telling Ferg her story exhausted her even further, but her ears listened for the sound of the Trans Am engine just outside her window.

When she finally heard it roar to life, she couldn't help but be relieved. And a little sad. Although she knew him well enough to know he would do what she asked, a tiny sliver wanted him to go against her wishes. Fight for her. Barge in here and tell her he would prove her wrong.

But, that was silly. Childish. She was right, after all. All she would do is bring him down, especially if she was tried and convicted of this Stan guy's murder.

_I should find a good attorney . . ._

As the engine faded in the distance, she curled up on top of the comforter, so tired . . . sleep . . . that's what I need . . . everything won't look so bleak then . . .

She breathed deeply. The scent of soap, wood smoke and gun powder made her smile despite how awful she felt. Until she realized where it was coming from.

Opening her eyes wide and sitting straight up, she looked down.

She was still wearing Ferg's coat.

The tears came with a vengeance. She couldn't stop them if she wanted to. Large gulping sobs that she muffled in her pillow. She cried for everything she had given up. For everything she _did_ do. And for everything she _didn't_ do.

But mostly, she cried because she had done the right thing. And was still miserable for it.


	16. Fly in the Ointment

Annie plopped the bottle of Rainer down in front of the sheriff before he could even get settled at the bar.

"Thanks," he said, taking a swig.

Annie watched him warily, leaning on the bar. "I take it you have news for me."

He chuckled half-heartedly, picking idly at a corner of the label. "I forget how fast news travels around here."

Annie had seen Vic do the same thing to her beer labels. She wondered who learned the habit from whom. "Shouldn't you be used to it by now?"

"I haven't – nor will I ever – get used to a lot of things about today's world."

Annie watched him stare at the label, almost as if it held all the secrets.

He looked his age today. The man actually cared, if the lines on his face told the truth.

And for the first time, she realized why Ferg thought so highly of the sheriff.

_Ferg . . ._

She shook off the sadness that threatened. She couldn't think about him. She wouldn't. But, his memory snuck up on her at the most inopportune moments.

She hadn't seen him at all.

Because he'd done what she asked. He'd left her alone.

The sheriff took another swig before he spoke again. "We found the guy that cut the brake lines. Apparently, our victim won the truck in a poker game under extenuating circumstances."

"He cheated," Annie translated.

"Right," Longmire agreed. "This guy snuck onto the lot after hours and cut the lines. But he swore up and down he didn't want to kill him. Just shake him up. Run him into a tree. Ruin the truck."

"Life never turns out like you want, does it?"

"Boy howdy," he admitted tiredly.

Annie hid a smile at the expression. "You do know that Fred Ray was fit to be tied about this. He's threatening to put up security fences and cameras and get a mean dog. Maybe two."

"It would've been nice if he thought to do it before this little episode."

"You're telling me. You're not the one who was looking down the barrel of 5 to 30," Annie admitted, drying glasses as she talked. Thankfully, it was quiet tonight. Dena was handling a lot of the tables, so she could tend the bar.

The sheriff finished his beer and sat the bottle down with a thump. "I never really thought you did it. Even after Branch dug up that file on you."

Annie winced. "You were just doing your job." She sat the glass she had been drying down carefully and looked him in the eye. "I'm just glad you pointed Branch in the right direction. All of the evidence honestly looked like I _did_ do it."

His smile was kind. "Deputy Connally has a tendency to be hot-headed. Like a dog with a bone."

"Next time, I'll change his flat. But, I'm charging you for it."

He grinned and tossed a bill larger than necessary on the bar. "I'd expect nothing less. Have a good evening, Annie."

"You, too, Sheriff." She picked up the $20 and stared at it. After cashing out his ticket, she put the rest in the community tip jar.

Big tippers, these sheriffs.

The night wore on. Sure, she was extremely relieved at having the case solved, the correct person behind bars.

Not her. She was still free.

But, she was still tired. And it wasn't the weariness brought on by lack of sleep. In fact, she'd been sleeping fairly soundly lately, Ferg's coat tucked up underneath her arm.

Not that she'd admit it to anyone.

She should probably get it back to him, but that would mean seeing them. And she couldn't handle that. The honest, pleading way he looked at her before she turned away from him haunted her.

Along with his kiss.

But, she couldn't think about that either.

"If you rub that counter any harder, you're going to rub all the fake wood off it."

Annie's head jerked up.

Vic was giving her that same feral smile. "So . . . how's it feel not to have jail time hanging over your head?"

Annie wasn't sure if it was a rhetorical question, but she thought it deserved an answer. "Like I have a new life. Have you ever been accused of something you didn't do?"

Vic leaned on the bar and reached over to grab a beer. "I've been accused of all sorts of things, and most of them I _did_ do."

Annie didn't doubt it. "So, what brings you by? You feel the need to apologize to me, too?"

Vic made a rude noise with her mouth. "Fuck no! I was just doing my job. And I'll have you know, I'm the one that figured out who really cut those lines. So you should be kissing _my_ feet!"

"Fuck no! That's your job, remember?"

Vic grinned at her, and Annie couldn't help but grin back. God, this woman scared her, but she could be likable when she wanted to be.

Vic took a liberal swallow of beer – Annie couldn't help but notice she had grabbed a Rainer – and spoke up. "Actually, I did want to ask you something."

"An Absaroka County deputy wants something from me? Scary thought indeed."

"Since I'm the only one that doesn't want in your pants, maybe you should be glad to see me."

Annie shot her a dirty look, but it didn't faze Vic one bit.

"I'm doing you a favor, so play nice," Vic continued. "Are you looking for a roommate."

Annie burst out laughing. "A _roommate_? Have you actually _seen_ my little trailer?"

"Hell, no, not in that teeny thing! I have boots bigger than that!" She sat her empty bottle down with a snap. "Since my husband and I divorced, I can't quite swing all the bills at my condo."

Vic was _married_? That's one she hadn't heard . . .

"I thought maybe if you were tired of living in that tin can that you might want to move in. I'd even give you the master bedroom downstairs."

"Lemme guess-bad memories of a marriage gone wrong?"

Vic grimaced. "Let's just say I'd rather not sleep in there anymore."

"Why don't you just move?" Annie asked.

"Have you seen what's for rent or sale around here? On _my_ salary? Let's just say I really have no desire to live in a trailer park. So, I thought if you were interested, I'd ask you first. Hell, you've already been interrogated, anyway! I know you're not an ax murderer or work for the IRS or anything else slimy and nasty!"

Annie couldn't help but chuckle. "It depends on how much you're talking about here."

Vic rattled off a figure that was just a tad more than what she was paying for lot rent and utilities now. And she _was_ tired of living in that tin can, as Vic so fondly put it.

She was still leery. Part of her nature.

"I dunno. I've never had a roommate before."

Vic waved her hand impatiently. "Hell, with our hours, we probably won't ever see each other! And I sure hope you can cook better than I can."

"Don't count on it."

"I can make a mean lasagna, but that's about it." Vic leaned forward, the feral grin back. "And you can have whatever guests you want. Just keep it quiet. I don't like hearing loud monkey sex while I'm trying to sleep."

Annie knew exactly what Vic was insinuating. And she wasn't going to take the bait. "You don't have to worry about that. With two jobs, I don't have time to date, remember?"

Vic studied her so intently, Annie had to look away and busy herself with cleaning the already-clean counter. "Uh-huh," was all she said.

"Plus, I don't really want to know if the sheriff is a screamer or not," Annie glanced back at Vic, who grinned.

"The best ones always are. And you can move in tomorrow if you like." She tossed a key on the counter before she sauntered for the door, all the male patrons watching her leave. "Just leave a check for the first month's rent on the table."

Annie stared at the key.

She had told Ferg she may beat feet out of her once the case against her had been solved.

But, she liked her job at Ray's. And she liked this job, too. Henry wasn't so bad to work for. In fact, he had an uncanny ability to listen and not say a word while she spouted her problems. Nice to have a sounding board, especially lately.

The only fly in the ointment was Ferg.

But, he had kept his distance. She had no doubt he would keep on doing just that.

She wasn't so sure if she wanted him to, but that was water under the bridge now.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the key and put it in her pocket, her mind made up.


	17. Rite of Passage

"I can_not_ believe your father was a cop, and you don't know how to shoot a gun," Vic complained as she flew down the road so fast, Annie unconsciously braced herself by putting her hand on the dash.

"It never crossed my mind to ask," Annie admitted, although slightly embarrassed. She'd been living with Vic for a couple weeks now, and it was hard to get used to her forthright way of coming out and saying whatever the hell was on her mind. Annie learned that she didn't mean for it to sound harsh. She just wanted to know.

"Any fucking daughter of mine will know how to manage a weapon," Vic muttered.

"In Wyoming, I think it's a rite of passage."

Vic's quick bark of laughter made her smile. "You know in Philly, we knew every perp was carrying a nine or something small hidden underneath their jackets. At least around here, you just look to see what's hanging in the rear view!" She stomped on the brakes at a small sign about a shooting range, and Annie braced herself on the doorway, gasping in surprise.

Vic always drove like the hounds of hell were on her ass. Annie tried her best to not ride with the woman, but she had no clue where this shooting range was. Vic offered to take her and teach her, so she felt like she had to give in.

Not anymore. She would arrive at any more lessons in her own vehicle. At a sedate pace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You really suck at this, you know," Vic said as they removed safety equipment. Annie watched Vic take apart the weapon they were using. It was a mean-looking thing to Annie, but Vic seemed very comfortable with the .45.

Annie figured the cute little blonde would be comfortable with an Uzi, as well.

"I warned you."

"You didn't lie. Next time, try to hit the target and not the dirt."

"Yes, ma'am."

Vic grinned at her. "You're lucky I like a challenge."

Annie grimaced. "Why does that thought scare me more than it should?"

Vic's laughter echoed across the makeshift shooting range. She had told Annie that the sheriff's department came out here to practice. The land belonged to Branch's uncle, the former sheriff, and the old man seemed to like the idea that it was littered with bullet casings.

They climbed into Vic's cruiser, and Annie reached for her water bottle, taking a liberal swallow. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be used to the low humidity out here. Nothing like Chicago, that was for sure.

"What time to you have to be at The Red Pony?"

"Not until 5. I think I'm working until closing. What about you?"

Vic made a face. "My turn for night shift."

Annie braced herself as Vic flew way too fast down the dirt drive, rocks pinging on the undercarriage of the Dodge. "You don't work nights much."

Vic barely slowed as she wheeled the car out onto the highway, gunning the engine. "Ferg's ran it every night for almost two weeks. Walt pulled him from it and made him take a few days off."

Annie knew Vic was watching her out of the corner of her eye, gauging her reaction to this news.

Her first thought was she needed to add that to the list of things she was responsible for – Ferg trying to work himself to death. But, she wasn't _that_ narcissistic. No one held a gun to his head. They were done, and if that's how he chose to deal with it, then what could she do?

She still couldn't help the sliver of sorrow that pierced her heart.

"Low man on the totem pole. Comes with the territory, I assume," Annie said nonchalantly, gritting her teeth as Vic passed a cattle truck way closer to a blind curve than she would have liked.

Vic openly stared at her now. Annie wished she'd look at the road.

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what? And for God's sakes, would you watch the road!"

Vic looked disinterestedly out the window and corrected the car before it drove into a mailbox. Right as she opened her mouth, the radio squawked to life.

"Vic, are you out there?"

Vic cursed and picked up the receiver. "Ruby's not going to like for you to not be all professional, Connally."

Branch wasn't in the mood to jest. "We've got another body."

Vic flipped a switch, and the lights and sirens came to life. "Where?"

"Out in Parker Henderson's field. His horses were acting funny this morning, so he investigated and found . . . her."

"Where the fuck is that?" Apparently, radio etiquette didn't apply to Vic.

"A few miles down Hwy. 212. Where the old water tank is."

"I'm just a few miles from there. Give me two minutes."

Annie wouldn't have believed she could have urged the car to go faster, but she did.

Vic seemed to have almost forgotten she was there. Annie was glad she was at least watching the road now.

"It's that same guy, isn't it?"

"I'll castrate that mother fucker myself when we figure out who the fuck he is." Vic's tone was laced with venom.

Annie believed her. 100 percent.

And she wished like hell she wasn't along for the ride. Not because of the driver but because she didn't really want to see what was waiting for them in Henderson's horse pasture.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Do you th-think . . . maybe the horses did . . . some of it?" Annie had to keep swallowing as she tried hard not to look at the brutalized features of the naked woman in the field. The newspaper – of course – didn't print photos of the previous victims. Annie didn't know it was this . . . awful.

Vic held out her hand, - the one that wasn't frantically taking photos with the department camera - and Annie knew she was supposed to hand her an evidence bag.

She wished like hell someone else would get here that could do this for her.

"Nope. She looks exactly like the other four."

Annie swallowed bile and fought not to puke, instead looking out at the horizon to keep her mind occupied. Mr. Henderson had moved the horses to another field, and he and his wife were off in the distance standing by the fence, watching the scene unfold.

Annie would much rather be out there with them.

Once again, she was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Earth to Annie!"

Annie snapped her attention back to Vic, who was looking at her impatiently. "Hand me another marker!"

Woodenly, she reached in the bag for the next one. She wasn't sure what Vic saw – surely, she couldn't spot anything herself – but she marked it and photographed it.

Against her will, Annie's eyes strayed to the poor woman, and she made herself keep looking. She was young, younger than even Annie was. She had probably been very pretty, even beautiful, but it was hard to tell. Whoever had beat her had focused mainly on her face and head. What blonde hair that wasn't matted by blood and some suspicious grey matter that had her swallowing hard and taking deep breaths was fanned out on the brown grass. One of her hands was curled beside her head, the other arm twisted at such an odd angle underneath her back, she knew it had to be broken. Her legs were unmarred except for what looked like burns around both ankles.

Her legs had been tied. If her wrist wasn't so close to her head, Annie thought about looking to see if her arms had been tied, too. She was too chicken to look again.

"That bastard. That fucking bastard," Vic muttered. She'd said that a lot.

"D-did . . . was the body dumped? Sh-shouldn't there be . . . I dunno . . .tracks or something?" Annie looked around. Anyplace was better than the mutilated body of a woman who shouldn't be there at all.

"Watching a lot of 'Law & Order' lately?" Vic mumbled.

"Just a thought," Annie whispered, appropriately chastened.

Vic sighed, obviously frustrated. "This guy is good. We haven't been able to find any tracks or any trace. Just a dead body in an odd location. But there is one thing they all have in common."

Annie could hear sirens in the distance, and her knees almost buckled in relief. She could run for safety on the other side of the fence with the Hendersons in just a few moments. "Besides the fact they're all beautiful young women who've had their heads bashed in?"

"Aside from that," Vic said impatiently as she glanced over at Walt's Bronco – fondly called 'The Bullet', Annie knew, come flying up the driveway, a rooster tail of dust in its wake. "The other four all worked recently at a strip joint near the Rez. I'm willing to be she did, too," Vic pointed at the dead woman.

Annie's features froze, her heart catching in her throat.

The newspaper articles didn't share that bit of information.

By that time, the sheriff had made it across the pasture with long-legged strides. Annie shoved the investigation paraphernalia in his hands and hurried as far away from the scene as she could.

She didn't even make it to the fence before she threw up.

"Are we bringing along civilians now?" Walt asked, studying his undersheriff.

Vic pushed blonde strands of hair away from her face to no avail and shrugged. "She was with me when we got the call. Do you know she's never shot a pistol before?"

"I don't think she's ever seen a dead body, either," Walt said, studying the dead woman. "Same MO as before?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Vic said crossly.

Walt sighed, this case frustrating him to no end. And now he had another dead woman to haunt him. "A man can dream, can't he?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Annie lay awake long after she should have. She had to work at the garage in the morning, then at Henry's in the evening, so if she didn't get some sleep, she'd be useless all day.

She couldn't get the picture of that poor dead girl out of her mind.

Anyone who would do something like that to a fellow human being was the sickest of the sick. How he – and it had to be a man with all the vicious blows – could do that to someone was beyond Annie's intelligence.

But, she knew it could happen. It had happened to her, after all.

She tossed back the blankets and looked around. Her bedroom at Vic's condo was larger than her previous residence, which was now parked in storage for a small fee at the RV park. Annie wasn't sure if Vic had painted the bedroom, or if it was already like this when she and her ex moved in, but the light beige walls and carpet were tastefully done. Soothing.

Except for tonight. Nothing soothed her tonight.

She stood and walked towards the bathroom, flipping on the light, momentarily blinding herself. She put both hands on the marble countertop and stared at herself in the mirror.

The same old Annie stared back at her, except she was now a brunette instead of a blonde. Her brown eyes were a little too far apart, her nose a little too turned up to be beautiful. And if you looked closely, you could see the scars from her reconstructive surgery after one too many beatings at the hands of Junior Santos.

She thought of the dead body in the lonely horse pasture.

_That could have been me_.

Shuddering, she turned away from her serious expression, flipped off the light and crawled back under the blankets. The furnace kicked on as she snuggled deeper under the covers. It must be colder tonight than usual.

She wondered if Vic was still prowling the pasture like she was when Annie called Henry to come get her. Certainly not. They were probably going over the evidence now. Or maybe taking all the everyday calls that came along to patrolling an entire county.

_The other four worked recently at a strip joint near the Rez . ._ .

Vic's words kept ringing in her ears. She'd even asked Henry the name of the place.

_The Last Ride_.

Sure was for those five dead women, at least.

She'd wanted to ask about who owned the place, but decided that would be too obvious. Besides, it didn't necessarily have to be the owner. It could be another employee, a bouncer. Or it could be a regular customer. Or even someone who never went inside the place, just lurked in the shadows and grabbed whoever struck his fancy.

Well _that_ narrowed it down, didn't it?

She shivered despite the warmth of the blankets and pulled them tighter around herself.

She could sense their frustration as they worked – Branch, Vic and the sheriff. She couldn't blame them. This was personal. Although the murders may not have happened in their county – the majority of the Rez was actually in Montana if she wasn't mistaken – the bodies were certainly dumped here. Almost as if the perpetrator wanted them to be found. He probably enjoyed watching the frustration, knowing he caused it, and no one could figure it out.

Bastard.

If anything, she was glad Ferg had taken a few days off. Not because she didn't want to see him and the awkwardness that would ensue, but because she felt like this was something he needed to be protected from. She knew he wasn't naïve, but this sort of violence was not who he was. It tended to scar those who weren't accustomed to it in ways that changed them, sometimes for the worse. She had tried to tell him that when she told him her whole sordid story. She was damaged goods herself, and he certainly deserved better.

Although if she thought about it too much, she wished it to be different.

She missed him. She missed how she could talk to him so easily, yet they could sit there in silence and not say a word. It wasn't awkward. Just soothing. And she felt . . . safe. She rarely had someone so kind and loyal in her life, and she would have liked to have seen where it went.

Too late now.

And as she tossed and turned, finally falling into a fitful sleep, she knew he wasn't going to like her idea one bit.

Good thing she didn't have to get his permission.


	18. Bait

She had no trouble finding the sheriff's little cabin. She wasn't even surprised to find Vic's cruiser parked outside of it.

Although it was secluded enough out here, she was pretty sure they weren't being as secretive as they thought.

The early morning sun was struggling to rise, and her work boots left prints in the frozen dew on the ground as she made her way to the rustic front porch. Taking a moment to admire the view of the fields in front of it, the mountains in the distance capping it all off, she made as much noise as possible clomping across the porch before opening the screen and knocking on the solid oak door.

Vic probably hadn't been off duty long, so she certainly hoped she wasn't interrupting anything. But, if the sheriff took her up on her idea, she probably didn't need to be seen at the courthouse too much, anyway.

Walt Longmire opened the door, obviously surprised to see her there as he buttoned his shirt. "Well, hey, Annie!"

Annie smiled back. "Hi! I . . . uh . . . hope I'm not interrupting."

She thought he looked a little sheepish as he held open the door for her to enter his home. "I'm just eating breakfast . . .and Vic's in the shower."

Annie had to smile. He had to realize she wasn't stupid.

Judging by the dampness of his hair, Annie figured he hadn't been too long in there with her himself. But, she wasn't going to point that out. Instead, she glanced around the house. Snug, yet definitely a bachelor pad. An old upright piano against the wall, dusty with disuse, held her interest for a moment.

She had heard the sheriff's wife had died of cancer several years ago. It had taken him awhile to get over it.

"Is there something I can help you with? Or were you looking for Vic?" he asked, holding out a mug of coffee.

Gratefully, she took it, wrapping her chilled hands around it for warmth. Her truck heater wasn't acting right, and she was going to take a look at it as soon as she had a spare moment. "No, I actually came her to see you. It's about . . . those murders."

A shadow crossed his face as he motioned for her to sit at the cluttered kitchen table. Careful to avoid a pile of unopened junk mail sitting precariously on the edge of the table, she complied. Taking a sip of coffee, she realized her hands were shaking just a little.

And not from the cold.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

In her mind, she pictured the mutilated body of the young woman in the field, squared her shoulders and blurted it out. "I want to help you find who did this!"

His smile was grateful, but it didn't quite cut through the weariness in this eyes. "I appreciate the offer, but the Absaroka County Sheriff's office isn't hiring right now."

She sat the coffee mug down next to a haphazard pile of screws and what looked suspiciously like a bag of crushed beer cans. "Vic mentioned all of you had talked about putting a plant at that strip joint. What about me?" She spit it all out before she chickened out. But, once she said it, she realized how stupid it sounded.

Who did she think she was? Dana Scully? This was probably _waaay_ out of her league. . .

The sheriff actually seemed to be considering it. He had to be remembering the file they had dug up on her, her 'occupation' before she came to Wyoming, so she didn't need to remind him of that. Not like you needed a reference to work in those places. "She shouldn't have said anything to you."

"Well, there was a dead body lying there. You sort of lose the ability to remember social norms when faced with shit like that," Annie answered frankly, taking up for her roommate. Not that Vic needed any help.

Walt didn't disagree with her. "You know, the only one we could come up with to do it was Vic. But, she's too well known . . ."

"Notorious is more like it."

He smiled. "Probably." His smile faded, and he looked at her seriously. "You would be willing to do this? To help catch this guy? Even if it's . . . dangerous. There's always the chance . . ." He didn't finish, but Annie knew what he meant.

That she'd wind up dead in a field with her head bashed in.

"You've read my file. You've seen what I've been through. I'm probably the most qualified to deal with it, anyway. Hell, a strip-club on the Rez can't be any different than one in Chicago. Men are men."

"Also, if they do any research on you, you'd look legit," Walt pointed out.

"I doubt they can spell 'research'. Big tits are their only qualification." Vic emerged from the shower, toweling her hair. She heard most of it. "However, there's one big problem. Two actually."

"What?" Annie asked warily.

Walt spoke first. "You live with an Absaroka County deputy. That may spook him."

Annie was quick to answer. "I thought about that. I still have my trailer. I'll just pull it out there and live behind the bar or something. I won't hide it. Act like it didn't work out. I mean, most people would believe it when I said I couldn't get along with her."

Vic shot her a dirty look as Annie smiled innocently back.

Walt hid a grin himself. "You've put a lot of thought into this."

"Couldn't sleep last night."

"That doesn't solve your second problem," Vic said crossly.

"Which is?" Annie asked. Although she was afraid she knew the answer.

Vic crossed her arms. "Ferg." Her tone dared her to contradict her.

"You know we're not . . . dating," Annie said stubbornly.

"That man is going to raise holy hell about this, and you _know_ _it!_" Vic pounded her finger on the table for emphasis on the last two words.

_Yeah. I figured as much_. "That's your problem. Not mine." _Because I haven't even seen him in two weeks . . ._

"Listen, I don't know what happened between the two of you, but I don't think you getting bare ass naked in front of half Cumberland County, _not to mention_ you putting your life in fifteen kinds of danger will go over well with that man _at all_! Hell, he tried to work himself to death before Walt made him take a few days off because of your little sins of omission! What do you think _this_ will do to him?"

That stung to hear Vic say it aloud, although she had the exact same thoughts herself. "He can't tell me what to do! And neither can you!" Annie found her voice rising in frustration.

This is why she didn't want to get involved with him to begin with – she just kept hurting him over and over again . . .

Walt was listening to the entire conversation, his head moving back and forth like he was watching a ping-pong match. When Vic's intense gaze met his, he didn't even flinch.

"Are you seriously going to let her do this?"

Annie watched him for an answer, too. He glanced over at her. "It may be the only way to catch this guy." His voice was calm. He was accustomed to dealing with Vic in more ways than one.

Vic shook her head. "Fuck!" She stood, grabbing her towel as she stomped back towards the bathroom, still complaining. Her voice was muted by the slamming of the bathroom door.

Walt looked at her, and Annie shrugged. "Just let me know."

"Let me talk to the sheriff over there. Get the ball rolling." They both stood. Annie thought about putting her mug in the sink, but it was already overflowing with dishes, so she left it on the table. He walked her to the door and opened it for her, but stood in front of it, studying her closely.

Annie made herself not break the gaze.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do, Annie?"

_No. Not really._ She nodded once, swallowing hard. "You read my file. That could have easily been me. I-I just feel like I need to do . . . something. . ." Her words drifted away with her thoughts.

He smiled wearily, and Annie wondered if he slept about as good as she did the previous night. He stepped aside and held open the door. "Sheriff Wilkins runs a tight ship. I promise you'll be in good hands with both of us working on it."

"I'm counting on it," Annie said with a weak smile.

As she climbed into her freezing truck and started the engine, she hoped she wasn't making the biggest mistake of her life.

And she had a lot of them, that was for sure.

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Vic appeared behind him as he watched Annie drive away.

"When you have to tell Ferg about this, I will try to be in Billings that day. As far away as I can get."

Walt knew she was right. His responsibilities as sheriff sure fell into some strange categories lately.

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Ferg sat in the driver's seat of his car and stared out the window, not really seeing any of the morning activities unfolding. The florist pulling wilted flowers from the arrangements. Dorothy standing at the bar talking to some of her everyday patrons. Louis Tuttle at the camo store pulling out a rack of sale items on the sidewalk.

Nope. He saw none of it.

All he saw was all of those dead women in his mind. Even the one they had just found while he was taking a forced vacation. He'd seen the photos.

That Annie apparently saw, too. Firsthand. Which caused all this mess to begin with.

Damn that Vic! Why did she bring her along?

Ferg pounded on the steering wheel once, startling Mrs. Peyton walking her little poodle around town for his morning walk. He tried to smile weakly at her, but she wasn't impressed.

Right now, he could care less.

Sure, he was irritated that the sheriff had forced him to take a couple days off. But, he knew Walt was right. Thankfully, his boss didn't try to get him to explain why he was acting so out of character.

That was fine. Ferg didn't quite understand it himself.

A few days of fishing up on the Big Horn Mountains helped. But he knew something was up when he walked in the office. The normal sedate pace was increased by the presence of several Cumberland County deputies, along with Sheriff Jim Wilkins himself.

He knew it surely wasn't going to be anything good when Sheriff Longmire summoned him into his office and shut the door, momentarily blocking all the commotion.

At first, Ferg couldn't quite imagine where exactly the sheriff was going, unless he only wanted to update him on what had happened in his absence. His somber tone suggested otherwise.

Stunned didn't even begin to describe his initial reaction.

Patiently, the sheriff explained their reasoning. She would know what to look for. She had done this before. She could do this.

And don't' forget, she volunteered.

_Of all the stupid. ._ .

Patiently, Walt continued to tell him the plan. How she would contact them. How they would track her at all times. A watch, especially at night, would be set up to keep an eye on things from a distance between Cumberland County and Absaroka County deputies. They were hoping it didn't take too long – the murders were actually coming closer and closer together, so they hoped the perp would take the bait.

Bait . . . that's all she was to them . . . she even had a code name, but he had already forgotten what it was.

Ferg didn't want them to label her, to make her a faceless victim – because all she was going to wind up being was a victim.

The anger took hold next. In fact, he didn't say a word when the sheriff finished his quiet explanation of the way things would be. He just rose and slammed through the office door with a little more force than necessary.

Branch tried to stop him, but he refused to stop until he was out the door, the brisk autumn air clearing his mind, helping him think. Branch was certainly the last person he wanted to talk to. Unless it was Vic. Who was noticeably absent, come to think of it.

This was _suicide_! _How_ could she not see it? _Why_ was she doing this?

Why?

He had several thoughts on that. And none of them made in sense.

He had no say in it. Of course.

Didn't mean he wasn't pissed off about it.

He thought about going to see her. He even put his hands on the keys hanging from the ignition, pausing. She would be at the garage more than likely.

His hand fell away. As angry as he was, that would never turn out well. In fact, that probably wouldn't turn out well even if he _wasn't_ mad as hell!

He started the car and threw it into gear, the chirp of his tires on the pavement illustrating just how upset he was.

She had chosen her path. It did not include him. And that hurt. A lot.

But that didn't mean he was going to stand idly by and let her get herself killed.

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Annie saw Branch when he walked in the door, appraising the bar the way men like him always did. Always on the hunt. On the prowl. In fact, she was pretty sure they didn't even realize they were doing it.

She shook her head as she put on her apron. She had just arrived herself. She had been working extra hours at the garage and The Red Pony, mostly to keep herself busy before she was temporarily relocating to The Last Ride.

She certainly hoped it wasn't _her_ last ride.

But, she had volunteered. The plan made sense. And she knew she would be as well protected as she could possibly be.

Why was she still scared half to death?

Henry was told what was going on. Aside from the sheriff, he was the only one that didn't feel the need to spout doubts about the plan every time he saw her. Fred Ray was given a more truncated version. Thankfully, Walt explained it to him, so she didn't have to come up with the words to say she was leaving temporarily to be a stripper.

At least, she _hoped_ it was temporary.

She didn't know what exactly Walt said to the man, but he kept giving her strange looks lately.

Better get used to it. She was going to get more than strange looks at The Last Ride . . .

It was more difficult to get back into the mindset of being just a piece of meat that men would cause even the most calm of men to paw and leer with gleeful abandon. She had enjoyed it in Chicago. At first.

Now, she realized it was going to be harder than she realized to put up a front.

"Enjoying your last night of freedom?" Branch asked, settling himself at the bar. He grinned at her, and she couldn't help but return it.

What woman wasn't a sucker for dimples?

"At least the pay will be better," she said, hoping her hesitation didn't show. "You want a beer?"

"Not right now. I'm still on duty." He leaned in closer, although no one else was seated nearby this early in the afternoon. "So they hired you, huh?"

Annie shrugged. "Piece of cake."

A smile played at his lips. "What do you have to do to audition for a job like that?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not what you think. All I did was saunter in the door and ask for a job." She didn't mention she was scared to death. And it wasn't just because there was a killer on the loose. Although that certainly was enough to give her pause.

"How convenient that they have an RV hook-up right on the building," he smirked.

"I'm sure it's not up to code. In fact, the entire electrical system in my camper may be shot when this is over with." The least of her worries, to be sure. But staying right at the club made her a much easier target. Easier to find.

Easier to kill.

"How long they let you stay there?"

"As long as I want. Hopefully, this won't take _that_ long."

And she wouldn't be dead when it was over.

But, she _had_ volunteered, remember?

When she felt any doubt, she conjured up the image of that poor dead girl with her head bashed in lying in a horse pasture.

It surely didn't need to happen to anyone else.

"Talked to Ferg lately?"

That question threw her for a loop, and she stared at Branch for a moment. He had on his serious face, so she wasn't sure where he was going with this. "No." She paused for a moment. "Should I have?"

Branch removed his ever-present cowboy hat and ran a hand through his hair before putting it back on. Every woman in the room noticed this, eyeing him appreciatively. "Maybe you should."

She had tried so hard to forget about that man, but he kept sneaking up on her at the most inopportune moments. In fact, she was a little surprised she hadn't heard from him. She had braced herself for his anger. So far . . . nothing. She started drying glasses from the lunchtime crowd as if her life depended on it. "I don't have to answer to him," she muttered defiantly.

"No, you don't. But he could get you pulled from this case."

Annie almost dropped the glass she was drying. With more calm than she felt, she carefully sat it on the scarred counter, setting both her hands flat on it as well. She leaned in towards Branch. "What do you mean?"

Branch seemed like he was enjoying this. "He knows Walt won't budge. So, he's been spending a lot of his time trying to convince Jim Wilkins that this is a royally fucked-up idea."

Ferg had that right. It _was_ royally fucked-up. But it still pissed her off. Her eyes narrowed as Branch continued.

"From what I hear, he's even been trying to convince the Cumberland County DA that civilians shouldn't be involved in a dangerous case like this."

"Well . . . those five dead girls didn't get that memo, now, did they?" she growled.

How _dare_ he? He had no right . . . NONE! . . . to butt in her business like this! Go behind her back! Sneak around and try to get her pulled from this! Without telling her _to her face_!

Sure, she had her own doubts. But she knew his reasons were totally different.

_Calm down . . . it's not that big of a deal . . . keep your wits about you . . ._

"If it makes you feel any better, Wilkins is about as stubborn as Walt."

It didn't. And neither did her inner monologue. She ripped off her apron, balled it up with more force than necessary and threw it on the bar as she stormed out from behind the counter.

"You don't even know where he is!" Branch called to her retreating figure.

"That's not your fucking problem!" Annie called out over her shoulder, slamming out the front doors of the bar.

If he wasn't at the courthouse, Ruby would tell her where he was. Maybe. Maybe not. But, if Ruby caved, she'd drive all the way across the damn county to give that man a piece of her mind.

Her earlier reservations about going near the courthouse totally slipped her mind.

How _dare_ he! He wouldn't even try to contact her, but he'd _sneak_ behind her back . . .

Annie's tires threw rocks against the building as she stomped on the gas and headed towards Durant, leaving Branch watching her from the doorway.

"How could you think that was a good idea?"

Branch jumped as Henry spoke from behind him. Sneaky, that Henry.

"I didn't think she'd take it like that," Branch said sheepishly.

Henry shook his head.

"She really had a right to know, you know!" Branch argued.

Henry didn't dignify him with a response. Instead, he headed towards the phone to warn Walt that the hounds of Hell were getting ready to descend on his office in record land speed time.

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_Author's Note: I have no doubt that civilians getting mixed up in stuff like this in real life is a big no-no. But - you know - this is fiction, so I can do whatever strikes my fancy. Carry on!_


	19. The Paths Other People Have Chosen

Walt glanced out his open office door. "Yeah. He's here."

"Is anyone else?"

"Me and Vic. And Ruby."

"I would suggest you find an errand for Vic."

Walt sighed. He could strangle Branch for this. "That bad, huh?"

Henry's non-response answered that question for him.

"Should I also find somewhere else for Ferg to be, too?" _Like maybe Siberia, perhaps_?

"No. They need to have this conversation."

Boy howdy.

"I just wish it wasn't here." He sighed wearily. "Thanks for the heads up."

As usual, Henry didn't bother with a good-bye, the dead air on the line signaling the Cheyenne Nation had already ended the call on his own terms.

Walt rustled through the paperwork scattered on his desk. There was always something that needed to be done around here . . .

"Hey, Vic! Can you come here a second?"

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Annie had plenty of time to stew, although the trip to Durant seemed to take a shorter amount of time than usual.

Probably had something to do with the fact that her speed gauge in the old Ranger was pegged at 90.

If she was in a rational state of mind, she would realize that Ferg's opposition to her participation had no effect on the outcome. She was still going to shake her butt and hope the ass munch killing these girls would take the bait, no matter who he complained to.

Her rational self would also wonder _why_ she was so angry. He cared about her. As a result, he would oppose it and try to find a way out of it. That was just a normal reaction to a sucky situation.

But, she wasn't rational. Oh boy, was she not . . .

_He has no right . . . none whatsoever_!

As she flew into Durant, she spotted his blue Trans Am parked at the curb.

She screeched to a stop, parked illegally in front of the courthouse and slammed out of her truck, leaving the keys in the ignition.

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Ferg was still going about his day-to-day duties, but his mind was always trying to figure a way to get Annie out of this. Surely, someone else would see what a crazy idea this was! He had gotten over his anger at the sheriff. After all, the plan made sense. He knew this, deep down inside.

But, he still didn't have to like it.

Sheriff Wilkins patiently listened to his complaints, but pretty much told him it was a done deal. There wasn't a thing he could do about it. The trip to the district attorney in Cumberland County was a desperate move, but it was the only other thing he could think to do.

He knew he couldn't talk her out of it. Although he desperately wanted to reason with her. Or maybe it was just an excuse to see her again.

Even he recognized that would not be wise.

He hadn't slept well since Walt had told him about the plan a few days before. Probably because he kept having nightmares where he found her brutalized and beaten body dead in a field. Not a good sleep inducer, that's for sure.

He knew she had already been hired. She'd start tomorrow night. Men would ogle her, fantasize about her, some would probably even be brave enough to grab at her just like that creep did in The Red Pony . . . and she'd have to put up with it.

Not to mention to fact that a killer was out there somewhere . . .

He threw his pen in his open desk drawer and slammed it shut with more force than necessary. Ruby eyed him from her desk before she resumed typing.

Wilkins was right. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he knew he wouldn't sleep tonight either. Or any night until this was over with.

And she came out of this alive.

His mind refused to imagine any other outcome.

Ferg sighed and rifled through the stack of files on his desk as the door to their office slammed shut with such force the windows rattled.

Probably Vic. He always figured she slammed doors just for the fun of it. Or probably because Ruby hated it.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're up to?"

He paused.

Annie. Standing next to his desk.

And she was madder than rip as she glared at him, her hands on her hips, obviously waiting for an answer she probably didn't really want to hear.

The first thing Ferg noticed –except for the fact that she was pissed off - was her hair was different. It framed her face in waves that brought out her eyes. The color was more . . . blonde. She told him she was a blonde, anyway, and had only colored her hair after leaving Chicago. . .

Of course, she'd have to get it styled. Men liked their strippers to be stylish, didn't they? Or maybe not. Maybe they just liked to see as much as naked flesh as possible.

That thought royally ticked him off.

Ferg leapt to his feet and met her toe-to-toe. "Trying to keep you from winding up with your head bashed in!"

She seemed taken aback by his sudden outburst, but she quickly shook it off. She pointed her finger in his face. "I'll have you know that I have been taking care of myself _looong_ before you came along, and I can do just fine without you trying to _interfere with my life_!"

"Oh. You've done a _fine_ job of taking care of yourself, haven't you? Just like you did with Junior, huh?"

Ferg knew it was a mistake the moment those words left his mouth.

She stepped back, momentarily stunned, staring at him as if he had hit her. Back pedaling, he realized he should apologize. And quickly

He should have seen it coming.

The palm of her hand smacked him across the face. Hard.

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Annie wasn't sure what stung the most – her hand after she slapped him or the truth in his words.

Apparently she and Tom Cruise had a lot in common. Because she couldn't handle the truth either.

They glared at each other as the late afternoon sun shone brightly through the dirty window, waiting to see what the other would do.

_I can't believe it's come to this_.

Tears stung her eyes, and she bit her tongue until she tasted blood to keep them from falling. She didn't have the luxury of tears right now. She'd do that later. Long after this was over.

Ferg broke the silence first, his voice calm. Quiet. "Look. I'm sorry I said it."

She knew his apology was sincere. She also knew he meant exactly what he said about Junior, too.

Ferg had the inability to be nothing but truthful.

"I'm just trying . . . trying my best to keep you . . . _alive_-" There was no mistaking the desperation in his words.

Now she felt like a shit. A total heel.

His anger had faded, and she realized how exhausted he looked, his features gaunt on his unshaven face. It shocked her that as angry as she was, her first reaction was to wrap her arms around him. Tell him that everything would be OK. For both of them.

She'd lost that luxury. Her own choice if she wasn't mistaken. So, she grabbed hold of her anger and struggled to hold onto it to say what needed to be said, putting her hand on her hip. "I find it highly interesting that you think you're the only one that can be my protector. Save me from myself. That Walt or Vic or the Cumberland County bunch can't do it just as well."

"They're all gunning to get this guy. You're just a pawn to them. A means to an end." His words were so pained that she could practically feel the emotion cutting through her anger like a hot knife through butter.

Her features softened just a bit. She'd had the same thoughts. Not that she'd tell him that. "I really don't see Walt not caring what happens to me one way or the other. Even Vic. What is she going to do without someone to help her pay the rent?"

Her sad excuse for a joke was not amusing to Ferg in the least. He looked away from her and picked up a file from his desk, turning and speaking to someone behind her.

"Do you mind if we use your office?"

In her haste to make sure Ferg knew he was way in over his head, she hadn't even thought to see if anyone else was in the room.

The sheriff was leaned on Ruby's desk, his arms crossed, watching them warily. He motioned towards the opened door to his office. "Be my guest." Ruby was looking at her with vague disapproval over her glasses.

_Of all the . . ._

Annie's embarrassment fueled her anger, returning it full force. All she wanted now was to retreat, saving some face.

She had just walked in Ferg's office and attacked him. How stupid was _that_?

What in the hell was she _thinking_?

"I don't think we have anymore to discuss," she said haughtily, backing towards the door.

"Yes. We do." Ferg used a tone with her she'd never heard before, one that dared her to contradict him. She paused in her retreat and stared at him. He held up the file. She wondered what was in it. After all, the last file Absaroka County shanghaied her with - her own - about did her in. "You're going to hear me out. Because if I don't at least try to change your mind about this stupid thing you're about to attempt, I'll never forgive myself."

Annie sighed impatiently. "Fine!" she stalked towards the sheriff's office, glad to be away from Ruby's disapproving gaze.

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Ruby and Walt watched Ferg shut the door as he followed her inside.

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Do you think he'll change her mind?" Ruby asked.

"Nope." Of that, Walt had no doubt.

However, one thing did concern him. "I may need new furniture, though."

Ruby couldn't disagree with him there.

She returned to her paperwork as Walt sighed, adjusting the hat on his head. "Let me know if I need to take anyone to the ER." He disappeared out the door and headed for his truck. And safety. Ferg was on his own.

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Her arms crossed, Annie angrily stared out Walt's window at the street below without really seeing any of it. She heard Ferg shut the door behind her, but right now, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

This was a really bad idea. On more levels than she could imagine.

"Look at me."

Annie ignored him for the time being, cursing the tears that threatened to fall down her face.

This did not turn out exactly how she thought.

Every man in her past that tried to control her only did so for his own gain.

If she had stopped long enough to think about it when Branch sprung his bit of information on her, she would have realized that Ferg was not thinking of himself when he was trying to get her pulled from this job.

He was thinking of her.

She knew he cared. Like anything else with him, it was as plain as day to anyone bothering to look. Of _course_ he'd fight for her safety, rather she liked it or not. When she let herself think about it, she realized with a jolt that it pleased her. Made her feel just that much safer.

"Annie. _Please_ look at me."

And she apparently hadn't realized how much she cared herself.

Wiping her eyes quickly, she turned. "Why? Why are you doing this? Why won't you just leave it alone?" She meant for her words to sound angry, but all they did were plead.

"I can't, Annie. You know that," he answered hoarsely.

Yes. She did.

When she didn't respond, he opened the file he had brought with him and started to fan out the photos on Walt's messy desk.

Annie looked away. "Don't show me those-"

His voice was firm. "You need to see them-"

"_No_! I _don't_!" She was glad her anger had returned. She was going to need it if she wasn't going to break down and cry about every misgiving she had about what she was getting ready to undertake.

Ferg's voice was calm, but pleading. "I want you to understand what you're going up against. Alone. Because no matter what safety precautions we put together, there's still a very large chance you'll have to face him without any . . . any help . . . any . . ." His voice broke, and Annie didn't dare look at him. She couldn't.

So, she did what he asked. She looked at the photos.

The other four women didn't look quite as bad as the one she saw first-hand. She made herself focus on this. The dates.

She picked one up and studied it. The first one. The poor girl couldn't be more than 17. "He's getting . . . more violent."

"Exactly!"

Silence. Neither one spoke.

"I've got to stop it from happening, Ferg-"

"That's not your _job_! That's what I've been trying to _explain_!"

She held the photo up to his face. "I _know_ what this girl went through! I know how she _felt_! The desperation with life that makes you turn to a job like this! How dirty you can feel after a night of strange men pawing at you, desperate for a chance to touch you! And _more_!"

Ferg flinched and snatched the grotesque photo out of her hand, tossing it back on Walt's desk. He looked like he was going to say something. Instead, he sighed, moving past her to stare out the window.

Annie didn't know why, but she wanted to make him understand.

Sure, she didn't have to ask his permission. But she apparently wanted his blessing.

She perched on the edge of Walt's desk and idly fingered the photos. "I also know what it's like to have someone beat you until you wished you were dead. Wished the ground would just open up and swallow you as the blows keep coming and coming and coming . . ."

"Please . . . don't . . ." His voice was strangled, but he hadn't looked at her.

She didn't stop, but not out of malice. He still didn't understand. "To have him laugh over you while you made yourself as small of a target as possible, bleeding, begging for him to stop, pleading that you had learned your lesson, whatever that lesson may be that night. Maybe he'd stop. Or maybe he'd pick up a lamp, a bat, a picture frame and beat you some more -"

Ferg moved quicker than she would have guessed. She didn't have time to react as he put both hands on either side of her, effectively pinning her against the desk. He looked her right in the eyes as he spoke. "Stop. Please stop. I-I . . . I can't think about you going through that . . ."

Annie wasn't surprised to see the tears in his eyes. They effectively canceled out any anger she was trying desperately to hold onto to. "I told you this a few weeks ago, so you'd understand. But I really don't think you do."

"You're right. I _don't_ understand. I don't understand why you got away from him, started all over again and are now voluntarily going _back_ . . ."

"I _have_ to! Any of those women – those girls! - could have been _me_." Without realizing what she was doing, she reached up and brushed the tears from his cheek with her fingers. It was still red where she had slapped him just a few moments earlier.

He shut his eyes and took a ragged breath at her touch.

_Jesus . . .what am I doing? Playing with this man's emotions like that?_

She let her hand fall back into her lap.

"You know why I think you're doing this?"

She didn't bother to give him permission to continue with his thought. She just hoped she could accept whatever it was he had to say.

His eyes never strayed from hers. In fact, she found an intensity there she had never noticed before. "I think you're doing this to make up for what things you think are your fault. Your mom drinking herself to death. Your father's choices that lead to him to get killed. Even that . . . asshole Santos . . . beating you senseless-" He mercifully stopped, couldn't continue his train of thought. He hung his head for a moment as she let his words sink in, fighting tears herself.

Annie wished he would move away from her, so she wouldn't be pinned to Walt's desk and made to face this. She wanted to run from his words, spoken so honest and true and matter-of-fact, run until she was so far away that she wouldn't have to face them ever again.

Running. It was what she seemed to do best.

He was _wrong_! So _wrong_!

Wasn't he?

She wasn't so sure anymore.

Hot tears now flowing freely, she put her hand to her mouth to keep the sobs at bay. "Y-you're . . .you're w-wrong . . ."

Still he stayed right where he was. Made her face the harsh facts. His voice was firm but kind. "Listen to me, Annie. You made mistakes. So have I. So has everyone else in this world. But you _cannot_ feel responsible for the paths other people have chosen. Not those dead girls. Not your parents. Not anyone! You can't change history by putting yourself in danger-"

Annie collected herself enough to interrupt. "But I _can_ change the future by taking this guy off the map. If he's not stopped, he'll keep killing. I can _help_ all of you with this! Make it _right_! I swear-" she stopped when he hesitantly cupped her face in his hands and wiped her own tears gently with his thumbs.

Boy, what a pair they were.

His touch was so gentle. So kind. "Can you really?" He had wiped her tears away, but his fingers still lingered, tracing her jawline lightly. "Because I honestly don't think you're as tough as you think you are."

How in the world did this man have her pegged so well?

She tried to smile but failed miserably. Instead, more tears welled. It was his kindness. It had to be. She had never had anyone act like they cared for her as much as this man standing in front of her.

She couldn't take it any longer, leaning her forehead against his chest. When he wrapped his arms around her, she knew she was in trouble.

She couldn't stop the tears now if she wanted to. So, she cried. For herself and her past. For those dead girls who chose a path that crossed with a madman. And for having the face her own ghosts and inner demons. Clinging to him, she buried her face in his shirt as he rocked her back and forth as she sobbed.

"Don't do this. Please don't do this."

He was whispering it over and over against her hair. She didn't know if he was talking about her sobs or the danger she was willingly putting herself in when she stepped foot in that strip joint tomorrow as their new exotic dancer extraordinaire.

Either way, it was hard to mistake the desperation in his voice.

It took her another moment to realize she wasn't the only one in tears.

When was the last time anyone had cried for her? With her? Maybe her mother. Or her brother.

Definitely not any of the men in her life.

That thought alone just made her want to cry even harder, cling to him just that much longer. He represented safety, strength, integrity. Something she knew she was going to need in the coming days.

Because she still had to do this. No matter the reasons he gave her not to.

She wasn't surprised at all when their lips met. But, the intensity of the kiss shook her to her very core. Their conversation brought so many emotions to the surface, and every single one of them could be felt in the embrace. Through a haze, Annie realized she could taste his tears as she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him with the blatant need to feel wanted by someone who wanted her just as much, maybe more.

Although it felt like an eternity, she knew it wasn't much more than a few moments when she reluctantly pulled away. Standing unsteadily, she pushed him gently away without looking at him.

If she looked into his eyes, saw what he felt for her so plain on his face, she couldn't walk away from him again.

Wiping her eyes, she quietly opened Walt's office door.

Ruby looked up questioningly. Annie knew she was by far a pretty crier, knew her face was splotched red, knew her eyes were still rimmed with tears, bloodshot. And she could use a tissue something fierce.

She didn't stop to gauge Ruby's reaction. Instead, she walked quickly past the older woman's desk through the door. To safety.

Or actually _from_ safety. This time tomorrow, she was going to be knee-deep in her own personal hell, trying her best to pick out a killer in a sea of faces.

She was going to do this. And she was going to come out alive on the other end of it, no matter what Ferg said.

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Ferg stood in the window and watched her. Back straight, chin up, she walked across the sidewalk to her truck parked halfway on the curb – boy she really _was_ mad when she got here! – and climb inside, slamming the door behind her.

But, she didn't leave right away. Instead, she sat with her hands on the steering wheel, making no move to leave.

Many things went through his mind at that moment.

Maybe she was having second thoughts.

Maybe he should go after her.

Maybe he could convince her still not to do this crazy, awful thing . . .

He could still taste her on his lips. Feel the way she clung to him as she cried. Absently, he rubbed his chest – his shirt was still wet with her tears.

As she finally made her decision, cranking the old truck, he also watched her drive away in a puff of smoke.

There was nothing he could do to stop her.

That thought almost brought him to his knees with the sheer finality of it.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, looking out the window but not really seeing anything at all, until there was a soft knock on the door.

Ferg wiped his eyes and looked up.

Ruby. Watching him carefully. "We just got a call about a break-in just outside of town," she said apologetically. "I put the information on your desk."

Ferg nodded. Life goes on, as it always does. "Thanks, Ruby."

She smiled at him and retreated to her desk.

Ferg took a deep breath and followed, an idea forming in the back of his mind.

He may not be able to stop her. But he sure as hell could do something to help them keep track of her. . .

_Author's note: OK, y'all. This chapter gave me the sadz. Review and cheer me up! :-)_


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